Relapsed
by 2JRC6
Summary: After the alleged failure of Winston's recall, a conflicted Tracer finds herself pulled back into action to hunt down a rogue Sombra. But soon the mysterious hacker proves to be a dangerous challenge for the former heroine. And as more lives are put on the line, Tracer finds out if this is even her fight to begin with.
1. Chapter 1

The sun was just coming up on the horizon. As the scarlet singed dawn shed its light upon the London streets, the whole city showed its alert endeavors. At London's heart, Kings Row, was where the buildings peaked. Hundreds of skyscrapers shielded the sunlight from the streets below. Overwatch's long been abandoned Watchpoint rested upon the city's elevated outlook, still visible considering its lackluster beige hue. As you would approach the base, it displayed its years-long wear and tear due to neglect. Deep cracks sunk into the concrete and the paint that prevented the metal frames from rusting began to chip. A lone flag bearing the insignia was perched on top of the main radio tower slowly deteriorating. As for now, it would play the role of a monumental landmark more than a symbol of protection, a perfect guise for the continuation of illegal Overwatch activity.

At the base's underground level was the lab of the ape scientist, Winston, sitting in a large office whilst looming over his computer screen. The lab was almost pitch black was it not being illuminated by several monitors and red emergency lights installed onto the floor. Winston stared at the monitor for a few minutes before bellowing a huge sigh, multiple profiles of previous Overwatch agents showing on and off statuses: MISSING, ALIVE, MISSING, DECEASED, DECEASED, MISSING, ALIVE, DECEASED, MISSING, DECEASED, ALIVE, MISSING. The gorilla's heart raced furiously, the thought of Talon getting the upper hand and actually winning loomed over him like a dark cloud. He wanted to get this out of his system somehow without any collateral damage. He pushed his giant chair away from the screen for a moment and took off his glasses to rub off some of the fog, he remembered the reason he was still here at the base, and he couldn't lose hope no matter what happens. He put the glasses back on and continued his work.

Showing up in a business casual with a handbag neatly fastened over one shoulder was none other than the now famous Dr. Angela Ziegler. Fresh off a plane from her home in Switzerland, she had responded from a call from Winston telling her to meet with him in secret. There was no military from the UN to patrol the bases, so it was fairly easy to sneak in.

Winston had caught the echo of someone's high heels coming down the stairs. "Mercy, is that you?" Upon hearing the ape in his lab, Angela had to follow his voice through the large dark corridors that led up to Winston's office.

Angela was finally able to spot him by his monitors but not without painfully running into a few tables and chairs, following an extra staircase that led up to him. "Yes, it's me. You could have at least put a key under the mat. There's no need for this much secrecy."

"Hey! I just saw you've made the paper," Winston smiled as he showed Mercy a copy of the London newspaper. Angela had responded wide eyed as she snatched it from his paw, she read the bold letters word for word " **Swiss Doctor and Former Overwatch Agent to receive Medal of Innovations Upon New Scientific Breakthrough** "

Angela focused herself back to Winston's awkward grin of prestige. "Um-I just wanted to say congratulations, Dr. Ziegler"

Mercy just shrugged, "Figures. The media should know that I've been trying to promote my work to the masses for years, and after controversy upon controversy they, for some reason or another, decide to actually give me a standing ovation. It just doesn't feel right to me."

Winston turned in his chair, baffled by her response, "Oh, come on Mercy! For once in your life you need to swallow your pride. You have finally proved them wrong for once and now they have given you some bragging rights."

Angela thought for a while, motioning towards a nearby desk alongside the scientist. "Well, I've never been much of a people pleaser, Winston, but I think I'll take your word for it this time. If they want me to take that award with my chin up high, I won't be backing down. "

As she was talking, Angela decided to take a closer look at Winston's computer screens. On one screen was a group chat box with white words on a black background showing Winston's username along with another anonymous figure. Seemingly puzzled, Angela caught a glimpse of the word "deal" in the chat before Winston hastily closed out of it. "Um, excuse me, what was that?"

Panicked after hearing Mercy's question, Winston immediately changed the subject. "So, what was the reason you came to see me?"

"I didn't come just to see you, remember? Who were you talking to in that chatroom?"

Winston's breathing began to sound weird, "Oh, that was a… person who was helping me out with…stuff."

The scientist's response only made him even more suspicious to the Swiss doctor. "Winston, you are fully aware that if what you're doing ends up with any of us behind steel bars, you will be the one to blame for it entirely. Right?"

Winston felt riddled with guilt as he squirmed in his seat, "I know, I know. I might be scraping the bottom of the barrel here, but I have been running out of options, I've met with someone anonymous who's willing to do an inside job on Talon in exchange for information."

Angela's brain heated up, the situation was just getting worse. "And what kind of information could that be, may I ask?"

"Not sure, all they said was that we had a deal and that was it."

Angela became furious, "And that was it?!" Winston nodded. The doctor stared, completely flabbergasted, " _Mein Gott_ , Winston, what were you thinking?"

"It doesn't matter now, what's done is done. Maybe now we actually have a chance to stop Talon and rejuvenate Overwatch."

It's always come to that resolution, to bring Overwatch back from the ashes and start anew. Even though Angela had always admired Winston's unwithered determination, by now it was just looking sad. "Maybe's and what if's, that's all that matters to you now doesn't it? Here's a maybe for you, maybe it's time to let this all go and accept the fact that it's done and over with. I don't think that Overwatch will ever be coming back."

"What other choice do we have? Talon is only going to get more powerful with each agent they kill, we are at risk of a second Omnic Crisis, Tracer's gone-" The monitors begin to flicker and short out before immediately shutting off, "Urgh! And I can't get any of my equipment in this darn lab to function without it breaking every time!" Winston slammed his arms onto the computer desk, leaving behind small craters.

Angela could only see the fit before her to the likes of a child, but she still had to treat Winston as if she was talking to an adult, "How about you take me as a for example, I don't need my background as an Overwatch agent anymore to be recognized on and off the streets. You've revolutionized science just as much as me Winston, and I believe that they could really use a bit of your genius in the field."

Winston scoffed, "Easier said than done. You really think that they'll just take one big look over at the talking gorilla and drop me off at the nearest government laboratory? "

"Don't go around saying such discouraging things like that, Okay? Remember what you just told me about swallowing my pride? What ever happened with that statement?"

Winston just put his head down in disappointment.

"Ugh, well then, since you were insisting in me doing so, I'm going to visit Tracer at her apartment to see what she's been up to. If you don't hear from me within an hour, send somebody to look for me." Angela headed back down the staircase, "I'll see you later."

"Um, Angela" Winston shouted just as Angela was finding her way out of the lab.

" _Ja?"_

"Do you happen to have the uh-" Before Winston could finish his sentence, Angela hinted at the contents of her purse as she held it in front of him.

Winston, looking stern for a moment, wanted to reconsider Angela's visit, thought for a while, and remembered that this all was in best intentions for her and Tracer. He sighed, "Just…go easy on her this time around. Please?"

* * *

As Winston and other heroes were making progress after the Overwatch recall, they went through plenty of run-ins with Talon as the terrorist organization continued their devious plans to reignite the tensions between humans and omnics. They were able to do some damage to each other, but not without losses and several apprehensions from the authorities. No matter how many they had lost, Tracer was still with Winston all the way in terms of getting the old Overwatch back. Her enthusiasm was what kept the morale of all of the heroes strong. And it certainly showed; the Brit could cut through Talon agents like a hot knife through butter, and from the looks of it she was setting a good example after all.

But then one day the ex-pilot's courage and determination all burnt away faster than they could ever imagine. Among these missions of covert espionage, Tracer had several encounters with one of Talon's most deadly assassins, Widowmaker. As she had come face to face with the sniper, the last mission that Tracer had been on was almost her last day on Earth, period.

Mercy heard the whole story of what happened from Winston's own point of view when he brought her in for emergency medical attention: There had been a large scale firefight in Numbani where Talon was opening fire at a peaceful gathering between humans and omnics .Tracer came in to escort civilians to a safe zone while Winston and Soldier 76 fought off the terrorists. During all the chaos, Tracer had spotted a child limping out in the open and put herself in harm's way as she wouldn't be leaving any innocents behind. But before she could reach the kid, an agent popped out of cover and shot the child right in front of her. Widowmaker happened to be up on a balcony scoping from a safe distance. Tracer's overwhelming state of shock was what gave the assassin plenty of time to draw her rifle, without a moment's notice landing a shot right into Tracer's neck. Being too occupied with cleaning up the Talon scum, Winston looked over at where Lena was located only to see her lying down in a murky red puddle.

Mercy almost fainted at the thought of being there as Tracer's last strings of life dwindled right before her eyes.

Tracer and the recall have never fully recovered after that. Agents and heroes began to question if the fight for Overwatch was worth saving and most of them had opted out. Winston, on the other hand, wouldn't be giving up anytime soon. Now, Winston has requested Lena return to see if she still has some determination within her to still be a hero. Angela, however, could only doubt if that was true; the task force that she saw as its protectors has vanished. Many rumors spread of the real cause of Overwatch's disbandment; she never wanted to believe in all of those conspiracies.

Having a specific purpose for buzzing herself into the complex's main lobby, just like she said to the door man; she was visiting a friend, nothing else. A brief, gentle knock was placed on the apartment door labeled 14, a room that was held on the top floor of the three story building. She knew the exact room but other reasons gave way to why her friend had kept this one; the abandoned base would be quite apparent from over all the other huge buildings in the already congested town.

The cheap apartment complexes in London were decent living spaces. Most had the standard ordeal: running water, air conditioning, a futon, a reclining chair, carpeting for the living area, and laminate flooring for the kitchen and bathrooms. Every member was offered a compensation policy for when they planned to retire or, in this case, Overwatch's eventual collapse. This had given them a chance to go about their post-Overwatch lives without much worry of finding another occupation, which Lena seemed to take advantage of. The financial benefits could last an agent over 50 years, if they didn't spend it extravagantly.

A long thirty seconds passed by, filling Angela with uncertainty. The closed spaces and cold atmosphere of the hallways didn't help with the feeling either. She knocked a second time, more firmly than the last and with controlled force, not long before subtle footsteps beyond the door were just caught by Angela's ear. Another pause was taken on the other side, possibly to check the peephole. After a swift yank of the chain lock, the knob began to twist vigorously before swinging the door open.

Upon seeing her friend give her a wide eyed smile, Angela had felt a sense of relief; she's not any worse, but not any better either. Since it was an early Saturday morning, Angela got the notion that Lena had been locked up in the apartment for the past day or so. She wore what consisted of rugged felt pajama bottoms and a tinted green tank top. Underneath was her chronal accelerator, the bulky chrome device encased on her chest emitting a fading blue glow through the shirt.

Both she and Angela were familiar with the fact that Lena didn't have to keep the device latching onto her at all times. As long as it was in close proximity, she wouldn't be fading away into non-existence. Whatever the case, Lena chose to keep the harness on anyways as a comforting mechanism. It was what made her unique after all, not to mention it had saved her life several times over.

Clearly Lena's signature hairstyle was the one astounding detail that, according to Angela, was what defined and represented Lena's witty and eccentric personality. For a while, it was nowhere to be seen. The luminous pointed waves of dark brown were considered by Lena to be the last remnant of that fateful day; she wanted to leave it behind, all of it. As if burning the very last bridge she had built for everyone once deemed family to her wasn't enough, the happy-go-lucky nature she once dawned and worn proudly whatever the case may have been was too cocky, too careless, too stupid. It had to disappear. So, it was gone, all of it, shaven down to what was merely peach fuzz.

Despite her apparel, she appeared ecstatic to see her old friend drop by for a visit after six months without contact. "Angie! How long has it been?" Lena blurted, sending shockwaves through Angela, giving her a jolt that no cup of morning coffee could ever give. She leapt in for a hug, pulling her into the complex, the atmosphere already making her feel claustrophobic. Angela tried not to step on the belongings that were scattered all over the floor, acknowledging the full extent that was Lena's toxic living conditions. She struggled to keep her balance, attempting not to trip over the scattered magazines, cans, bottles and clothes. Scanning the entryway, she could identify a few square inches of carpet that the trash didn't cover, wanting to have a panic attack over the whole dilemma.

Through Lena's embrace, Angela had caught a glimpse over the Brit's shoulder. The ugly scar permanently tattooed onto Lena's neck. A long white patch that streaked with violent bolts that rippled along the edges. It was all too noticeable considering it had the same diameter of a sniper bolt.

The scar was still something deep down in Angela that she had forcibly reminded herself of whenever she decided to meet Lena again, no matter how much she ignored it, pushed it down, it never went away, because she would have to look right at it whenever she saw her.

How the pattern came to a sudden halt would make the doctor wish that she didn't have so much human anatomy memorized. It was extremely haunting to put into context how the bullet entered. Putting it lightly, it had gone through the carotid artery. Just severing this vessel will result in death in less than 90 seconds. But this wasn't no sever, this was pierced by a metal bullet. Before doctors were finally able to remove the bullet and stitch Lena up, she had lost nearly half of the blood in her body. It filled Angela with guilt that she couldn't have been there when it occurred. Too much damage has been done. She had the proper technology. It all would have been less if she was around to fix it.

Every time one of the Overwatch crew brought up Lena's scar, she gave them a stink eye which screamed "Do not ever bring this up again or there will be dire consequences, capiche?" She was never proud of the scar. She didn't brag about how "cool" she looked and never even mentioned it once.

Angela wriggled out of Lena's supposed death grip, the two returned to their own personal boundaries, it felt nice to show this much intimacy after all they have been through. "Lena, I've never expected you to be this happy to see me."

"Oh, how I've missed you so! You look lovely by the way, is that a new suit?"

Angela had almost forgotten about the apparel she had, a long sleeved, yellow Faux-wrap with thin, green stripes below the waistline, "Why yes, it is. I've got some time off work and I wanted to try it out."

"Ha! Angie, you trendsetter you! Oh I just can't wait for us spend the rest of the day together."

"Now, Lena-"Angela had no intention for Lena to hear as she blinked into the kitchen, still visible at the far end of the room.

When Winston had contacted Angela to come to London for the visit, he had mentioned calling up Lena to inform her that she was coming over without getting too much into details why, sparing her from disappointment so she wouldn't barricade herself inside her room when Angela actually came.

Angela, barely hearing Lena's voice was staring at the fridges contents: top shelf was stacked with TV dinners with the shelf below stocked completely with cans of energy drinks and beer. "I went shopping just the other day, would you like anything?"

"N-No, dear, my coffee should suffice," She retorted. She sipped whatever small, lukewarm drops she held in her thermos. Obviously a blatant excuse she conjured to avoid her offer.

"Oh, alright then, I just figured you looked peckish since you weren't showing much energy, not to mention how eerily quiet you were being," Lena giggled.

Angela chuckled back, "No, to be honest with you, I'm still trying to wake up. I've been going through the past several weeks with a pattern of all-nighters in the infirmary. New cases coming in and out 24/7 can do that to you."

Lena popped the cap of a beer bottle on the fridge door. "Ah, I see, you just work too much. You have to take a break once in a while, y'know? That is why you came to see me, right?"

Angela thought to herself ' _Well Ms. Oxton, I would've figured you would say that since you have been on quite the_ _vacation_.'

Waiting on a response, Lena just confirmed Angela's lack of one as a yes. "Well come on, make yourself at home! Oh, and sorry 'bout the mess by the way. I was planning on cleaning up before I got myself too preoccupied."

Finding the nearest used chair, Mercy decided to rest her legs as Lena went to grab something from the other room. Despite the landfill that was Lena's carpet, the rest of the flat gave Angela quite the welcoming treatment. Tracer didn't have a job at the moment, but that wouldn't be stopping her from shopping on impulse. A centerpiece with exotic plants was on the glass coffee table, abstract paintings in the hallway along with a few bits of Overwatch memorabilia such as propaganda posters and medals hung on the walls. A small shelf was over the TV bearing only one picture frame. She couldn't make out the image well enough from where she was sitting due to the frame's shattered glass. Angela leaned in to get a closer look. It was Tracer with Emily. They were both smiling and holding each other closely. Angela could only sigh as the picture had held memories of a better time for the ex-agent.

Lena came blinking back into the room with a new change of clothes, "Aye, I reckon we chat more at the park. I know a place at the market where you can get some wonderful fudge. Ooo! Or I can introduce you to some of my chaps down by the pub. I dunno, what do you think?"

' _Now, just what kind of "chaps" is she referring to?_ ' This was the first time Angela had heard Lena use that word outside of mentioning the Overwatch gang. Maybe this was something the doctor didn't learn yet about Lena, or that she mostly used the word "accomplice" to refer to her outside friends and that she'd never picked up on it.

With this all happening so fast, Angela had almost forgotten the reason she wanted to see Lena. "Oh, sweetheart, what you've said sounds like a wonderful time but unfortunately that'll have to be put on standby for now."

Lena turned a head, "Excuse me?"

' _Oh dear_ ' Angela thought. She never should've gotten Lena this riled up "I'm afraid I haven't been fully honest with me saying why I came to see you." After a bit of awkward silence, the Swiss doctor put the leather purse on her lap.

Seeing what Angela was reaching in her purse for, all but a very few slivers of excitement and anticipation drained and seemingly spilled through Lena's body in a cold, cloudy rush of obsidian disappointment, she knew what Angela was going to say next, she just knew. The bitterness developed in all five of Lena's senses, not wanting to feel anything from here on out. She could only stand still and listen, left waiting for Angela's follow-up response and hope that this time around it would be something different…it wasn't.

From Angela's handbag, she had pulled the ugliest pattern of stripes that was the cover of her notebook. Each stripe revealing itself to her in all of its horror for what felt like hours, just some of the worst eight colors to be put together, top to bottom, one after another, each worse than the last.

Red, orange, black, brown, tan, white, yellow… _magenta_.

Angela's awkward smile had transitioned to a clenched flinch. The look on Lena's face stuck, in what was to be the most pure form of contempt towards an inanimate object that she had ever seen.

She couldn't hold the tension for both of them any longer, Angela needed to justify herself, fast. "Okay, before you decide to go off on me, this won't be as long or as draining as last time, if you just stick to the path that I give you, I promise that this will be over before you know it, and then maybe we'll have a few extra hours to kill for the rest of the day. Is that alright with you?"

Still keeping the glance she gave to Angela locked in place, Lena responded with a temperate nod.

Angela had felt it mandatory to examine Lena's mental health once she was developing worsening changes in her behavior. Immediately when Lena was checked out of the medical division, Winston advised the Overwatch team that she could easily recover from the trauma, reminding them that if she could handle non-existence after being lost in space time for months on end and still keep her "peppy persona", then she could handle this.

He also suggested not putting her through any more medical evaluation, though Angela showed disdain and had deemed this very unlikely as Lena was so emotionally distraught she couldn't even remember the mission she was on prior to the incident. Angela also previously engaged in multiple encounters with Lena quietly pacing around the base mumbling to herself without any interaction with the other agents.

Then, a few days afterwards, something had snapped in Lena. She had been sitting at the executive table in the Overwatch mess hall with a handful of other agents, one of them being Fareeha Amari, more commonly known to her as "Pharah" along with her mother, Ana, and a few others. They had been discussing plans to focus on developing alternatives for Overwatch's, infrastructure and afterwards decided to take a quick break. Getting up from the table, Ana disappeared into the kitchen to boil some water for tea.

While she was gone, Fareeha was questioning her complete silence and lack of eye contact during the whole meeting. Five seconds without a response and the Egyptian began to joke around with Lena, urging the other agents to follow along. Though it may have been harsh, she had no intentions going out of her way to be insensitive to the ex-pilot, as she'd known Lena for years and had appreciated her witty sense of humor.

Receiving several bouts of drawn out laughter from everyone at the table, Fareeha had taken it too far and wanted to make a joke out of Lena's near death experience. There were probably a few other ways that she had said it, but in retrospect it went along the lines of, "Hey Tracer, wait until Zenyatta hears about this! You can finally boast to him, tell him how you touched the iris! Oh, and while you were up there, did you rub metal with Mondatta too?"

With all of this going on, everyone at the table was recovering with sore jaws and teary eyes from laughing too hard. Reinhardt was in too much of a drunken stupor to be aware of his surroundings and Torbjorn had completely fallen out of his chair. They didn't see how fast Lena had blinked across the table to tackle Fareeha to the ground, knocking the wind out of her in the process. They had witnessed the unimaginable- Lena was pummeling the former soldier against the cold metal floor with consecutive punches to the face. They knew Fareeha was much stronger built than Lena, but that couldn't dissolve the fact that Lena was extremely quick with her punches, quick enough to hardly give her time to process what was happening at all. Blow after blow, the Egyptian barely peeked at snippets of Lena's face, seeing the cold, lifeless exterior built by her confusion. For a few seconds she was a lifeless juggernaut of built up frustration fueled by kerosene adrenaline, only taking one wrong move by Pharah to light the match.

Watching in disbelief, they all pleaded for Lena to stop. After the weight of the situation had set in that Lena was not giving out anytime soon, Mccree and Reinhardt had rushed over to pry her off of Fareeha, cuts and bruises already showing up all over her face. They had managed to slow down Lena's blind fury before Ana had rushed in from the kitchen with a sleep dart. Still lying on the floor caked in blood and sweat, Fareeha had tried to explain to her mother about what happened just as Mercy was walking in.

Half an hour later Lena had come to. Angela had asked her about what exactly was going through her head when she had decided to lose control. Lena tried to recall the sudden episode, she could merely describe a few sentences before breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably.

Whenever Angela had the chance, she would evaluate Lena's mood, thoughts, and actions whenever possible. But over time, Lena was seeing a pattern of redundancy in the exercises, especially considering the slow progress that they were making. There was nothing relaxing about it either, Lena would have preferred it to feel like a day at the spa, but there wasn't anything related to that. There was no yoga, no meditation, no nothing, just being forced to explain details to Angela as she was copying down what she had just said to her verbatim.

At the end of jotting down evaluation #57, Angela persuaded her to take the next week off. She returned with her shaved head and no uniform, wearing just a grey undershirt under her chronal accelerator. Over it, a sky blue button down shirt that had been wrinkled and covered in torn patches along with a pair of skinny jeans and trainers. She had constantly reminded everyone that her name was Lena Oxton while urging them to "please just stop calling her bloody Tracer". Receiving unapproval by Mercy and most of the Overwatch crew, the conflicted Tracer wouldn't show up at any more meetings.

Then out of nowhere, Lena contacted Winston after a month on hiatus, she had a much joyful tone in her voice. She talked about how much better she is with some time alone to herself and that since leaving she has finally stopped waking up every morning in a cold sweat. With everyone upset over this news, they had decided that it was for the best.

Angela sighed, unsure of how Lena was going to handle this. "Alright then, let's begin our appointment, shall we?"

Hearing what she referred to as Angela's "doctor talk", Lena acknowledged Angela as she let out an exaggerated grunt, which was followed by an overly dramatic face plant onto the sofa cushions. With an expression of total unamusement, Angela had watched the scene in its entirety. They were already off to a great start.

She allowed a few more seconds to pass before getting settled in. "Okay, I don't know if I've asked you this but how have you been doing since we last met?" Her voice being an appropriate tone to get her attention, she looked at the seemingly undisturbed Brit with a tranquil glare to mask her worry. She didn't reply, beginning hesitant as usual.

"You've been finding any new hobbies, any new friends besides the pub, a few little adventures? I'm all ears."

"….Well" *Click* Lena's thinking process was halted for a moment to swiftly focus her attention on the sharp noise that had just hit her ear drums. The sound came from the expensive ballpoint pen Angela had kept in her left shirt pocket as she scribbled incoherent German onto the paper. She always used that pen, ever since she signed on as Tracer in her post-Overwatch years Lena has seen her use it. She was having flashbacks of her physical for the new recruits at Overwatch, that was where she had first met Angela, back then only knowing her as Mercy, by now that alias had sounded too foreign.

Lena was discovering how many simple noises could irritate her, it wasn't just the sounds, it could have been the vibrations they gave off as well. For a while Lena was making a list of the few common sounds she would hear all the time that could unexpectedly be translated to nails on a chalkboard. At top of her list: the clicking of Angela's pen and the scribbling it made on paper, along with the phone ringing, open mouthed chewing, banging on tables, the plastic heel of a shoe hitting a marble floor-

Too much time passed, it was getting awkward to be thinking for this long and she tried to come up with a realistic answer to Angela's question. Nothing. "Actually, I'd like to hear a bit outa' you first."

Angela replied while she was still concentrating on her notes, "Alright then, recently I've gotten a headline in the news regarding my innovations in nanoprobe technology in the medical field. I also came to check up on Winston this morning only to discover that he has resorted to accepting funds from shady sources to continue our cause. Oh, I'm sorry, _his_ cause. You?"

"A headline in the news? Angie, that's marvelous!"

"You still haven't answered my question." Angela muttered, noticing how her patient was trying to change the subject.

Lena pouted, she really wasn't going to make this easy for her, "Can I tell you what went on in the news just last week?"

"Is this pertaining to your experience or are you just stalling our progress?"

"Can it be an experience if I at least witnessed it in some way?"

"Why yes, sweetheart, but try not to misdirect our attention from the exercise."

"Okay, so there was this news story about an underground Omnic gang who made themselves to look like humans y'know to blend in with the crowd and such, they get realistic human faces and clothing and walk around in public to be more socially accepted and I was finding myself very captivated since I don't usually watch the news, let alone watch any telly for that matter. Then, one day I was waiting at the bus stop to the market and this feller next to me seemed to be acting up-small guy, very old, older than Reinhardt. But for some reason or another, he was humming like a machine would and every few seconds he would cough in a very metallic way. Crazy, right?"

Rubbing her temples firmly, Angela exhaled in disappointment before slowly raising her head, "Lena, you should know that they had confirmed that story to be a hoax made up by anti-Omnic protesters to misinform the public. And I'm pretty sure from my diagnostics, that man you met at the bus stop just had a very bad case of emphysema."

Already feeling stupid, Lena cringed in embarrassment and displeasure, "…Oh, sorry 'bout that."

Aggressively scratching out the data she had originally set, Angela flipped over to a fresh page, "Listen, just pick something that happened any time since we last met and we can build it from there, I'll give you some time to think,"

And so for the next few minutes Lena thought of all the days where she wasn't so resilient to get out of bed and walk out the door. She also thought about when she went outside and it wasn't just to stockpile food or renew anything at the DVLA. Then she had it, kind of. There were a few instances where Lena would run into stray cats, but the experiences always upset her because unless you had food or were another cat, you would get a face full of claws that would guarantee a staph infection. Lena swallowed for a moment, ready to fabricate a story that would keep Angela thoroughly occupied.

"Um…I saw a stray cat this morning"

The scribbling came to a halt as Angela slowly lifted her head to focus her eyes on her once more. "Oh really, do you see stray cats often around here?"

' _Yes, all the freaking time.'_ Lena thought to herself, "No, actually."

"Ah, very interesting! Can you get into detail?" Angela requested as she continued writing.

"Um, not really. It was just a cat."

"Okay, first, as someone who identifies as a cat person I find what you said highly appalling. Second, in order for you to better focus yourself, you have to further analyze your environment. Ask yourself, how did the cat move around? When did you first notice it or when did it first notice you?"

"I could kinda read what it was thinking. When the little fur ball came over to me I was sitting and chowing down on a Sammie, so I believe it was around lunchtime. Then, it came right up sniffing me round a bit. So, I figured, Oi, this poor little feller hadn't eaten for days."

Angela nodded, the scribbling becoming more consistent, "Good good,"

"Yeah! So I, being the generous person I am, gave it a little nibble of the chicken breast I had. And the tiny squinched up look on its face was just-"

Angela interrupted, "That's great, Lena. But I really would like it if you use your observation skills, not just tell me a story."

Lena grunted as she threw her arms around before facing Angela again, "How much detail do you need, luv? I was just getting started."

"You said that you don't see stray cats very often, right? Then this cat in particular should be mind-opening for you. You shouldn't be describing it like this is just an average day in London. Remember, don't just see, observe."

Lena sighed, she looked back up at her ceiling fan and let the motion of the blades quiet her mind, "The air was clean...the sky was blue…"

"I thought this was about the cat."

"It is about the cat, just listen."

Angela crossed her legs, "I'm listening"

"Okay," Lena continued to stare at the fan and noticed how it felt slower, each revolution more rough than the last as it seemed to struggle in keeping momentum, "As I looked into the cats eyes as it was eating the bit of meat from my fingers, there was a bit of a reflection. I mean it wasn't really my reflection it was someone else's but I couldn't really make it out."

Angela only listened, entranced yet slightly confused.

"I stared for a little longer and before I knew it the cat started…uuh…talking. Yeah, b-but not with its voice I mean like it was using its cat brain and everything, like we were connected!"

Angela head was hurting from trying to absorb Lena's nonsense, "You mean…telepathically?"

"That's the word, telepathically. And then it spoke to me in like this really high cat voice and said ' _Tell me, mortal, what is the difference between a chicken sandwich and the meaning of humanity's existence?_ ' And I was like, blimey! This ain't no cat, it's a miniature sphinx. But since it was a million years wiser than me I couldn't figure its riddle out there and then. So, the little guy just said for me to take my time and it just *poof*…disappeared."

Lena stopped hearing the scribbling of Angela's pen, she looked back over to Angela, appearing completely bewildered. "Aaand that was it. What do you think?"

Angela had paused to think of a reasonable response, she looked across the kitchen to the clock on the microwave, realizing that twenty minutes have been wasted to listen to prolonged drivel, her patience had worn dangerously thin, "Well that is an interesting response coming from someone I haven't heard from in months considering you just told me how you've spent all that time being M.I.A. to just do absolutely nothing."

Lena's breathing got frantic as she hyperventilated through her nose and her eyes skittered rapidly. Her hands jittered as she brushed her bare scalp. That was the cue for Angela to put her foot down, she had hoped to evade this outcome, but of course that was just wishful thinking, "You know, just for a moment there I thought you could have actually come around this time to follow simple instructions, but apparently that's just not realistic enough for you, is it Lena? Because not only have you wasted a reasonable amount of time from my day but you have also lost any future chance of this ending favorably for you. And for that, you've just earned yourself daily two hour evaluation sessions with me for the next four weeks, congratulations."

Lena jolted her head of the sofa with eyes wide enough to expose the bright whites that strongly contrasted her beet red skin, "Don't think I'll be falling for that again, luv!"

Angela had appeared shocked at Lena's sudden response, "I beg your pardon?"

"If you intend on acting like me mum rather than my therapist, I would consider you not pull out the guilt trip card as soon as I don't give you the answer you want to hear."

"What are you talking about? I don't want to make you feel guilty. I just want us to make progress."

"You liar! Progress with what? And what do you mean by 'us' anyhow? I never even agreed to do this with you in the first place."

"I know you haven't. You have to understand that situations are not always going to go in the direction you want them to. These are common ethics we've been taught all our lives: acceptance, flexibility, compromise."

"See, you don't understand. That's what I've been doing ever since evaluation number one, evaluation number two, three, four, seventy-whatever! And now you're lecturing me about how I'm never flexible, when that's all I've ever been!"

"You only think that because your definition of flexible is saying 'yes' to every question I give, to everything I suggest, to every promise you've made for me and you never make the slightest bit of effort to deliver on that. If you really want to be flexible you have to listen to these evaluations I give you and use the experience so you can actually learn something! I cannot stress that enough, Tracer. So when y-"

" _HEY_! What the hell did I say about calling me Tracer!"

"Stop it! That's another thing, stop trying to change and wash away your image. You shaved your head and you won't talk to anybody else from Overwatch but me and Winston. I don't know about you but that's never a reasonable way to go about solving our problems! You can't just hide who you are just to make yourself feel better! This isn't you! What ever happened to the real Lena Oxton I know and love?"

Deep down Lena had started developing the same feeling to when she had attacked Pharah. Having to suppress the urge to not introduce Angela to the back of her hand, she gave her the one time to make a clear explanation. Keeping a twitched finger pointed to herself, she whispered eerily through gritted teeth, the hoarseness in her voice with trying to hold back tears making the words difficult to force out. "Look at me… this is me. This is who I've always been, it's who you're hearing speak to you at this very moment. If it just so happens to rub you the wrong way, you can either zip it or kiss my arse on your way out the door o'er there. And don't you dare parade into my flat with your ugly shoes, vomit coloured suit and your foundation smeared face just to tell me I'm wrong. Or else…maybe instead of your prissy notebook session I might be looking more towards the asylum for a goddamn lobotomy."

The room felt too quiet as the void looming over the two blacked out all that was peaceful before. Angela was wondering if there was a cold draft as she was getting goose bumps. "Sweet, C-Can you please stop arguing with me and just cooperate?" She could hear herself choking up, her heart felt weak as Lena's words painfully bounced around her skull. Angela exhaled deeply so she could release the weight that the stress of the situation she pulled herself into wouldn't worsen. Not wanting to further argue, she tilted her head down, giving Lena an opportunity to ventilate.

Lena shot up and delivered her one last interjection. "Oh, I'm sorry! I would feel completely welcome to tell you about how monotone my day is if you didn't come by every time with….that! I mean this is the _ONLY TIME_ where at least one of my friends and former colleagues can visit and every single time you show up at my door only to just make me feel like one of your stupid patients again! This is the whole reason why I stayed away for God's sakes! Why couldn't you just bring Winston to see me, huh? At least he treats me like a real person once in a while!"

As Lena could only freeze in embarrassment with noticing how much energy was put into her loss of temper. Angela had taken the chance to compose herself, "That's because you are, sweetheart. You're _my_ stupid patient. And that's how it's going to be until we are finished. And since you're too stubborn to work with simple communication techniques, I'll just have to skip to finding out your emotional state. "

Lena wanted to quit badly, but still hoped for at least some resolve. She sat back on the sofa. If she really wanted to hang out with Angela, she would just have to accept the fact that her rants weren't going to solve anything. She rested herself back onto the futon. "Fine, get rid of the notebook then."

Angela obliged, seeing that she had to show more understanding in order to not risk being kicked out of Lena's flat. She placed the pen back in her left shirt pocket, closed the notebook and placed it on her lap. Angela cleared her throat, "Now, I would like to suggest that we-"

Lena reacted only with more resentment. "No, I mean put it away, Angie!"

Calmly, Angela then placed the notebook face down on the coffee table between the two. She leaned back into her chair to show that the notebook was out of reach.

"Urgh, NO! ' _Away'_ , away!"

Angela got scared, panicked even. She was making the gargantuan mistake of not taking Lena seriously, as the Brit really wasn't going to handle any more humiliation.

"Alright, it's fine, don't worry." Angela promptly snatched the notebook from the coffee table and stuffed it in her purse before zipping it shut, then sliding it behind her chair to avoid Lena lashing out at her for a third time.

"…better?" Angela said under her breath.

Lena's face of contempt had returned, sitting slouched over the futon, head tilting forward as if the weight of being talked down to was affecting her posture. Already bitter, Lena just shrugged her off, "Dunno, you tell me, shrink."

Lena played passive-aggressive, this was bad. At this point, Angela knew she had already messed this up completely. Psychology wasn't ever her strong suit to begin with. She was reminded of just how terrible she was at understanding a patient's brain, the most important organ in the human body, more importantly the most advanced attribute for the evolution of the human race. All of the Overwatch members had been disturbed by Lena's changes and Angela had to do her share in getting her back on the right track. For once in her life she had felt discouraged. "I'm sorry, Lena"

Lena tilted an ear, "Come again, luv?"

"I said that I'm sorry, sorry about all of this, I never meant to put you in this position in the first place. I haven't been using enough compassion to know how much you're going through right now. All I wanted to do was help you in the best way I could but after months and months of trying I can't even reach a decent threshold."

"Hey, what did I tell you about trying to make me feel guilt-"

"Lena, I'm done, okay? "

Lena was being given the sense that she'd made a mistake, as though she may have just pushed Angela too far. "Wh-What are you getting at?"

Angela was developing a lump in her throat, she felt weak with her vulnerability already too obvious for Lena to point out. "I said I'm done. I'm done with the notebook, I'm done with the examinations, the appointments, everything! You win. If you really say that you're fine without my help, I believe you." Angela sniffled as a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

Lena stood dumbstruck at Angela's proclamation, "…..I-I don't understand"

"You know what, Lena? Me neither." Angela shot up from the chair purse in hand, wiping the tears from her eyes with a single thumb as she made her way towards the door, "Let's say we both get out of this stuffy room."

* * *

Power, to the top masterminds and executives behind the terrorist group, Talon, was only defined as control. To influence those that undermined them, governments and civilizations alike. It was simple; find the weak spots in their social norms and political beliefs and let fear seep into the mix. Once hatred had festered, that's when Talon knew they would have them feeding out of the palm of their hand. But to the likes of Talon's enigmatic hacker, power's definition was a bit more subjective.

The glowing haze projected from Sombra's fingertips held only the essentials, the information of truth. To her, power had come in the ability to breeze through all of the smoke and mirrors until there was only the fragility, the naked undercoat from just a few broken firewalls that was too satisfactory to just keep for herself. Because when the last film sheet of dignity and self-worth had peeled like a scab for the greedy and selfish, Sombra could only laugh. Laugh because in the sense of dramatic irony, it was there all along. The lies, the corruption, all organic flaws that manifested from those once respected. _Once_ respected. To counter a power that was wrongly fathomed to be inevitable. That, to Sombra, was real power.

All in the comfort of her cramped bunker, purple, holographic projections showing transcripts of confidential trade agreements were being scrolled through by the finesse of a single finger. Sombra had originally intended to use the information for cold blackmail but found herself too entertained by the white collars' supposed banter. Being so engaged in the comedic value of a simple piece text, she never bothered to be aware of her surroundings as a black mist that reeked of burnt carbon filled the air. Swinging her legs so, a spin of her swivel chair welcomed her to the shadowy figure that had invited itself in. With one brow raised, Sombra couldn't tell of the hooded man's facial expressions through the chalky white mask. Not expecting a single flinch from the hacker, Reaper pulled a bellowed growl to set his intentions as well as his dramatic tone. "The council wants you, NOW."

Having a chance to stretch before leaving with Reaper out into the dimly lit hallway, Sombra didn't feel the need to be nervous in any way possible. She'd known Talon's operations front and back, she'd seen them as no different from the corporate cronies at Dorado, just a bit more rebellious. Whatever they had to say about her wouldn't make a bit of difference. This would feel like a trip to the doctors, just in an underground facility off the coast of North America.

Going through the hallways in Talon's bases always made Sombra wonder if the organization was overcompensating for their lack of skills in architecture for trying to set a specific tone for themselves, the flickering lights and maroon schemed walls of metal set up pretty much every part of the building except for a few of the higher-up offices in Talon's ranks. Wanting to enjoy the eerie silence while standing next to the physical manifestation of death himself, Sombra was hearing Reaper actually start a conversation, which was strange considering how he was more the quiet type, "I got word from the Director about your little deviation. You've really outdone yourself this time."

Sombra was just remembering the act that Reaper was mentioning, "Oh, is that what this is about?"

"I was informed that you'd have known by now, since you seem to know everything."

"Really, do I know what you're thinking right now?" The hacker retorted.

"That's not what I meant, Sombra." Reaper allowed a few minutes to pass as they both neared the corridor into the meeting room, "Now tell me; why were you extracting our funds?"

"You know, after this, I am really looking forward to some of the tequila that I snuck in here. It was too early to have it at breakfast and now I hear it calling to me again. I have two glasses in my bunk so you're completely welcome to join me. Oh wait, that's right, you don't drink because of the whole corpse thing."

Reaper immediately stopped in the middle of the hallway, he turned to look at Sombra, inches from her face, "Listen here you, and listen well. Someday in time you are going to have to warm up to the fact that I don't like you, none of us here like you. And it's not just the pretentious attitude you wear like an opal necklace. You have time and time again risked sabotaging missions thinking we would be kept in the dark. You never listen to reason or treat any of us with the slightest amount of common decency. How exactly do you think this meeting is going to go after all the trouble you've caused us on our missions?"

"But by the looks of it, you were involved in those missions just as much as I was. You and the spider are supposed to be standing on Talon's shoulders, remember? Make them intimidating! Me? I'm just the paid tech monkey. Then again, I was able to accomplish something useful when your brawn over brains mindset doesn't always pan out. Oh, and by the way I'm curious, how are those quad routines working out for you?"

Reaper froze in place for a moment, still keeping the facial distance towards him and Sombra, "…why were you stealing our funding?"

"Ha! Since when have you become so interested in finances?"

"I had a little behind the scenes look from our comptroller. I was the only one in this facility who bothered to ask him about the strange new quota that went with my payroll. My word of advice, don't leave such a large trail of purple skulls if you intend on being more deceptive."

Sombra squinted at Reaper, "…you ratted me out, didn't you?"

"Hurts, doesn't it? Just like those soapbox-standing cults of personality you've swindled all those years. The last thing you want to be feeling for them is empathy." Reaper walked away dramatically before taking a final glimpse at Sombra over his shoulder. "Good luck in there, partner."

Sombra scoffed, "As if I believe in such a thing,"

Sombra was finding herself mildly irritated at Reaper's sense of justification for tattling, quite the bold move on his behalf. She almost thought that the big guy was just warming up to her. Guess those missions didn't change his opinion even in the slightest. It didn't matter though. Sombra's main priority now was to get this over with. No biggie, just a bunch of yelling and finger pointing and being told to never do it again and she'll be on her way.

The council usually consisted of mostly men with differentiating backgrounds of race and social class, but had equal motives either way. At the (sort of) very top of Talon's pecking order are simply known as the Directors who no one at Talon has ever actually met in person. Several Talon bases have been scattered worldwide with each looked over by only one Director. Keeping their locations and identity a secret, they will only reveal themselves through a holographic transmission. Sombra didn't even know what they looked like because of the projection's blurry pixilation of their faces.

Through the double doors, Sombra walked in to the closed-in room as she was welcomed to an empty table. Six seats on each side with each end having only one. At the far end of the table, Sombra could see the shimmering of a few blue lights that clumped together to form a human figure. From there the Director spoke in a robotic distorted voice. "Sombra, glad you could come on such short notice. I believe you are aware of who I am?"

" _Si_ " Sombra replied with her tone laced with a strong amount of exaggeration.

"Good, have a seat."

Sombra settled herself into the chair at the far end of the table. Behind her, a couple of other men in matching suits entered one by one as they occupied the rest of the seats in front of her. Sombra caught sight of the last one that dragged behind and helped herself to the packet of cigarettes in his pocket while his back was turned.

One of the agents on the other hand was what stuck out to Sombra the most, Agent Lexington. The hacker had several unflattering encounters with this man in particular. A tattletale and a real _hijo de puta_ , that's all she could say about him. Having grown to hate Lexington to his very core, Sombra would absorb every detail from the way he talked to how he looked and dressed. Sometimes, all the hacker could think about when encountering him was his rat-like face: A crooked nose that could be used as a bottle opener if you tried with giant nostrils that seemed cracked from the use of his "medication", cheekbones that could give him an edge in a battle with a rhinoceros and skin covered with enough liver spots to block out the sun eclipsing any room he stood in. The icing on the cake was his hairline, if you could say that. A row of bleached hairs that dangled in the back that glistened with mousse, ' _He actually mends those albino pubes_ ' Sombra occasionally thought to herself. The agent had a bit of an obsession with keeping her activities within short boundaries, exposing her in any way he seemed fit. To justify his means, he calls it paranoia. To Sombra, it was grossly inept vanity.

The Director took the time to greet each of the men individually before focusing themselves to her. "Now, it has come to our attention that there have been a few transactions indicating withdrawals from our treasury that have gone unregulated. Accounts show that millions of dollars from our hedge funds and bonds as well as several shares of our stock have been compromised. Do you have anything to say in this matter?"

"Depends," Sombra said as she pulled out a purple lighter, lighting the cigarette in her mouth. She glanced over at the last agent as he confusingly wiggled around in his seat and frantically patted the back of his pants pocket. "Do you want a forced confession or a drawn out alibi?"

"We already know it's you, we have enough evidence to prove that. We were just wondering why you found it necessary to go out of your way to commit such an act of treason."

Sombra laughed. "Treason. You _payaso's_ make it seem so sinister, like I just shot your dog in front of you." She took a long draw of the cigarette, obnoxiously blowing the smoke into the air, "Here's something, if you want to act serious about me not putting my hands in your little cookie jar, you could at least try to put it on a higher shelf."

"Are you referring to Talon's security network as too inferior for your own comprehension?"

"Not like it's a lost cause or anything, I mean there's always room for improvement, right?" Sombra could see the looks on each of the agent's faces, how they became more and more irritated each time she opened her mouth. "Hear me out, why don't we just sweep this under the carpet and settle this like an employee performance review, hm? I can tell you how I made it past the account's firewall, add a little more of my magic touch here and there, and as a reward for my overachievement you can let me keep…hmm let's say ninety-five percent of my withdrawal?"

"Here's a bit of a counteroffer, you give us ALL of the stolen capital and we'll be escorting you to the gurney next door."

Before Sombra could come up with a rebuttal that could somehow pull her out of hot water, Agent Lexington shimmied over to the Director's hologram. Sombra had found it hilarious that he was actually whispering into the pixelated ear. She had the urge to point out to him that that's not how those things work, but since Agent Lexington had always meant for others to take him seriously, it would only earn her a punishment worse than death.

"On second thought, we have a better idea." The Director stated. "We've decided that since you're apparently too much of a valuable asset to our cause for us to terminate you, we are going to let you walk…on one condition."

Out of the darkest corner of the room another agent made himself known along with an enclosed paper binder, promptly resting it Lexington's protracted hand. Once he had possession of the documents, he stood out of his chair for an upcoming disclosure.

"Thank you, Bennings. Now we have a few documents from after the Omnic invasion in Mexico that we just so happened to stumble upon. It may have taken us months to find it but it checks out nonetheless." Lexington exclaimed whilst haphazardly flicking the folder at Sombra, "And don't worry about trying to destroy that, we have plenty of other copies safe with us, all guaranteed Sombra-proof."

Sombra opened up the folder and examined every detail to ensure that it wasn't forged or tampered in any way and concluded that it was legit. With every detail of the document she absorbed, little by little her heart sank. At the top left hand corner was a picture of her as a child from her grade school before the Omnic invasion. Just right from the photo was a name. It was a full name that seemed to sideswipe her in ways she couldn't even fathom. The last time she had this kind of ambush, the whiplash felt to the likes of being rammed by a semi-truck, but this was more being impaled through the skull with a titanium spear that sent enough shockwaves of red lightning through her system to light up a football stadium several times over. She felt sick to her stomach as the boiling water that circulated in her veins cooked her insides and bellowed enough steam through her skin to melt the nylon of her purple jacket.

She wanted to throw the folder at somebody, but it wasn't worth the effort. Even though it was painful to do so, she had to look stern and not show any sign of vulnerability to Agent Lexington even with the twitching hand that she held the cigarette with in clear sight.

"Surprised? You shouldn't be. If you were to be just as smart as you looked, you would be running this organization all on your own!" Everyone at the table including the Director began to laugh at Lexington's own superiority over the hacker. "Tell us, Sombra, are you familiar with the concept of blackmail?"

Disgusted by Lexington's degrading rhetorical question, Sombra refused to answer, since it was so clear what he meant.

"Of course you do, so here's the gist. Unless you want to wake up the next morning and see your name on every news media outlet we can get a hold of, we would appreciate it if you could give all of us here at Talon your complete and total compliancy from here on out. We will be having our best recruits supervising you around the base as well as on your missions and you will be on curfew for when you intend on moving outside of our parameters. And don't worry if you do not feel well-adjusted to these changes at first, because we have ensured you will be working with us here at Talon for a very _very_ long time. Do we make ourselves clear?"

Sombra nodded hesitantly in defeat, eyes still glued to the folder.

"Good. Oh, and we are going to have to be confiscating that flash drive of yours, for precautionary measures of course."

At this point, Sombra didn't have time for anything else the council wanted in terms of cutting her at her knees, she had a new priority and that was to get out of that room immediately. Putting the cigarette back in her mouth, Sombra reached for one of two USB drives on her belt and put it up to her face, twiddling it in her fingers with both hands as she examined it in front of the council, "Don't come crying to me when this all blows up in your face." She exclaimed as she tossed it at the far end of the table. Jumping out of her seat, she manically rushed towards the door.

"Oh, and one more thing,"

Sombra stood in place just through the doorway, refusing to look at the agents to acknowledge hearing them.

"We usually don't condone smoking here."

Still looking towards the exit, Sombra dropped the cigarette onto the floor just in between the entryway, with one swift motion stomping the bud and grinding the ashes into the dust. Without any further words, the hacker departed into the hallway, leaving behind a thin, vertical trail of smoke that rose to the ceiling and disappeared into the ultraviolet light.


	2. Chapter 2

"She's in this room, just call that phone over there if you need anything." The head nurse said to Fareeha as she was being escorted down the hospital corridor.

"Thank you," Said Fareeha, distressed yet composed. The soldier seemed to admire the type of comfort brought to her by the stern confidence in the nurse's voice. It complemented her old age of what appeared to be her late sixties or early seventies. It was that sign of a well experienced woman that Fareeha greatly appreciated at the moment, someone who has certainly seen worse days, especially the Omnic Crisis. She had parted with Fareeha, leaving her alone in the hallway.

The door was closed shut, bleeding a trivial amount of sunlight from under the door. Her heart was acting up again, but she couldn't understand why. She had recited her monologue both in her head as well as under her breath through whispering lips. But the time had finally come, and she was beginning to get nervous. She had felt a small amount of resistance from her hand as she turned the cold metal handle on the door. Quietly, the door opened without any screeching, it was as if it had more composure than her. There she was, on the hospital bed was a now frail old woman, her one eye barely open staring at the wall on the other side of the room. A single braid of white hair rested on her shoulder, brittle and messy. Although she seemed peaceful her face was deadpan, not from a lack of interest but from a lack of the ability to have any. Fareeha also noticed the origins of where the light was coming from, a bare window that just captured the blood orange sunrise. It was a nice sun, something she really needed at the time just like the nurse. There was much concern that she would have to meet her mother during a gloomy rainstorm.

Walking inside, at the back corner of the room Fareeha caught eye of a visitor's chair next to the side table bearing a lamp and a vase full of poppies. Immediately, she sat down, slouched over while rubbing her cold hands together. She gazed over at the old woman who bared the same winged-eye tattoo as her for a less than reasonable amount of time. Already getting choked up, Fareeha let out a large sigh and decided to just get it out.

"I just wanted to see how you have been doing here. I realized that not a lot of my friends or anyone else have been visiting you nowadays and I just wanted to…check in you know, see how you were doing and it appears you're…fine."

The old woman's eye was drawn to the presence of her voice. She still refused to speak as both of their eyes met; it was a long and bare emptiness that Fareeha never enjoyed the company of.

"I wanted to let you know just last month I've been let go from Helix, not sure why. Maybe they just needed to let someone go for budget cuts, I suppose. Winston's letting me help him out with getting Overwatch back. And by help I mean he's letting me clean up around his lab." She chuckled to avoid an awkward pause.

Still, no reaction.

"…So, I've been told that Tracer is going to be coming back soon, I don't really know how much I feel about that but it seems she's gotten better. Well, I don't know. She still hasn't forgiven me for her outburst but I know I shouldn't be holding any grudges. I do miss her, the old her to be exact. Let's just say that I'm not very keen on this new persona she's developed, not that you have any concern about that."

This wasn't working, she couldn't just make casual talk to someone who can't even spark up a conversation with her. Fareeha recalled doctor Ziegler's words when she brought her mother in: Ana Amari has been left completely braindead. There has been so much permanent and irreversible damage that any kind of therapy or experimental treatment would be impossible. It would be best if she could find alternative means to deal with this tragic news the best she could.

She could only give a "thank you" to the doctor, and they parted ways.

"Oh, who am I kidding, no one is who they were anymore, not even me, not even you. We haven't gotten any contact from Morrison in what feels like decades. It's just that…I feel alone sometimes. You can see how you can relate to that, I mean I've never gotten to know my father. If he was around, well, I think he would've made great company at this time. Now I'm just hoping that it gets better for me, for us. It's just that I don't know for sure when or if it will get better."

Fareeha looked at the clock; ten minutes have passed. The longest ten minutes she has ever endured. The Egyptian stood up, grabbed her things, and opened the door in which she had entered. "Well, I guess I'll be going now. I'll see you some other time."

Closing the door behind her, Fareeha ran out of the hospital as soon as she could. There were so many other ways that she could have said that, so many other ways to make it less awkward, just something to make her visit more worthwhile. She was getting thoughts that it was all for nothing. Nothing was resolved or dwelled upon, it seemed almost pointless. She ran back to the car and hastily jumped into the passenger's side, fastening her belt and slamming the door behind her.

"How did it go?" The driver said to Fareeha, or more importantly Jesse McCree, his ten-gallon hat shielding his eyes from the sunlight as he turned on the ignition. The radio came back on with his playlist of the "best country hits".

"Um, yeah, it was fine." Said the Egyptian whilst refusing to make eye contact with the gunslinger.

McCree paused for a moment, expressing a slight amount of concern, "You alright?"

She looked over to the cowboy and back with swift succession, "Yeah, I just want to go home now if that's alright with you," She said with a bit of hoarseness in her speech.

McCree shrugged as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Sure thing, ma'am,"

* * *

Eight hours, that's how long Angela and Lena had been out in London seeing her favorite stops, eating at her favorite restaurants which only made the walking around part of her venture even more tiresome, and, of course, stopping by her favorite pub that she held dear as the friendliest place in London according to her standards. In eight hours Angela had felt as though she had seen everything that Lena had seen in her entire lifetime. Still at the pub clinging to desperation that this was the last stop, she had hoped that Lena wasn't somehow part of an underground fight club also.

As dark and dusty as they come, Lena was used to the pub's usual setting and always found it to be very welcoming in contrast to a Swiss woman such as Mercy, who couldn't feel any more out of place as she was right now. At least Angela had finally gotten to meet Lena's "chaps" for the first time. Most of them being barely at the drinking age for England's standards, just from listening to the banter in between them and Lena show they have a good relationship. It was the kind of playful banter that she found acceptable, acceptable meaning tolerable. There was a young man in his early twenties with a pencil thin physique and proudly dawning a gelled up pompadour who had no problem trying to flirt with Angela at least once or twice. The only other female in the group seemed to be about Lena's age, she bore the midriff stereotype with her librarian glasses and her high pitched laughs that sent tremors throughout the pub. Along with a few others who didn't talk as much. Twirling around the toothpick in the empty glass from her gin martini, Angela was slowly consumed by boredom as Lena was drinking herself into a blissful comatose. It wasn't until the bartender nudged the unconscious Lena to inform her that it was about closing that Angela was cued in to drag her out of the pub.

Just when Angela was able to get Lena into the passenger's side, her eyes slowly fluttered open. Bewildered by the change of scenery, Lena frantically looked around and realized that she was in someone's car. Catching eye of Angela in the driver's seat staring back at her completely deadpan, Lena put the pieces of the puzzle together and concluded that one of her close friends was taking her home.

"We had some fun didn't we? Yes we did!" Angela mocked as she playfully pinched Lena's cheek, shaking energetically.

"S-S-Stop stop it, Angie" Lena slurred, slapping Angela's hand away as the bright lights in the car blinded her.

"Alright, get some rest. And make sure you drink plenty of fluids in the morning," Angela reached for the ignition, not before Lena's limp, sweaty hand grabbed hold of her wrist and throttled it about.

"Y'know, dissiz 'xactly wot we needed, y'know? J-just two ol chaps bein friends, dats ol. Nonna dis Good Will Huntin rubbish ya bringin' 'bout, y'know luv? Jus us, havin a weeee bitta fun." Lena mumbled, the strong stench of cider and rum hitting Angela's nostrils with every forced out word. Her eyelids twitching as they barely stayed open, the oil on the upper folds glistening against the light, shielding her retinas.

"Yes, Lena, you can say that."

"It's so much betta…so much betta,"

"Yes, it is,"

"So much betta,"

"It is,"

"Angie, it's so much betta,"

"Yes, yes it is, Lena! Now will you get some sleep for me please?"

Lena finally released the oily grip on Angela's wrist, taking the untrimmed index nail and pressing against her window, tapping frequently through many takes between it and Angela. "B-b-but s'barely noight out,"

"Lena, it's midnight and it's pitch black, you're way too intoxicated to tell time…Lena?" Not getting a response after a few momentary seconds, Angela looked over to see Lena go completely limp and unresponsive. Slightly panicked, Angela looks to see if Lena is still breathing correctly, she bellowed a sigh of relief, "Oh, okay then."

It was about half an hour later by the time Angela had gotten back to Lena's apartment building. She had endured one of the longest days of her life, first with the soap opera in the morning, then with dragging her jelly legs to every store in London, and now escorting a plastered Lena back to her apartment. Nothing is ever as simple as it's supposed to be, she should've realized this.

Walking over to the passenger's side of the car, Angela opened the door to get Lena out. Starting by grabbing her limp underarms, Angela realized just how heavy Lena really was. "Come on, _Liebste_ , it's time to move."

But before Angela could move Lena any further, her phone buzzed from inside the car. Angela wanted to ignore it; she had more important things to do than answer a telemarketer. The buzzing continued. Letting out a large grunt, Angela nested Lena back into her seat before running back into the driver's side to grab her phone. It was Winston, what was he doing up so late? Not wanting to dwell into other questions, Angela answered. " _Hallo?_ "

" _Mercy, is that you? It's been hours since I last heard from you. I was so worried."_

Just remembering her instructions to Winston from this morning that had completely slipped her mind somehow, Angela placed a palm to her forehead in a deprecating manner, "Oh, sorry Winston, I forgot I told you that. Things got a little out of hand with Tracer, that's all."

" _It doesn't matter now. Listen, I know this sounds demanding of me at the moment but I would like Tracer here now."_

"Wait, now? What do you mean now?" Angela whined, leaning against the car in distress.

" _I can't explain everything now. Just get her to me as soon as possible. It's urgent."_

"Now wait just one-Hello…hello? Urgh!" Resisting the temptations of wanting to personally damage her phone, Angela shoved it in her back pocket. Lena was still incapacitated, it was going to be several hours before she would be back to her normal self. Angela sighed, "Okay, dear, change of plan."

* * *

The flight back felt longer than usual, not very often Fareeha had to readjust herself to the feeling of constant travel. Jesse, on the other hand, couldn't care less. The cowboy could sleep through a hurricane, which was a fact. Throughout the entire flight, he would repeatedly lean towards the adjacent seat, conquering a portion of Fareeha's side which she did not appreciate in the slightest. But that wasn't what was bothering her the most. Through sullen silence Fareeha couldn't stop reliving the uncomfortable monologue back at the hospital in Egypt that had given her a sleepless night. It was as if a part of her wanted to scream her lungs into shrivels but she couldn't find the energy or motivation to bring herself it. It was simply a drawn out and beyond bitter defeat.

She could capture every detail, her mother's lifeless and cold exterior, the pain she must've been going through; the torture of not being able to talk to her only daughter. She had found it was a massive mistake in getting her hopes up when she first saw her mother after all those years. Worse thoughts had sprung up, she should have never grown so attached to someone who had abandoned her for all that time. She pushed those aside knowing that it wasn't out of selfishness, all of it was to protect her.

Finally arriving in London, McCree had appreciated the bitter cold morning dew serving as a relief from the triple digit Egyptian temperatures while Fareeha, who left her jacket back at the base, was shivering profusely and begging for the A/C to do its job. McCree wanted to chuckle at her innocence but had troubles of his own, struggling to drive a car that was on the other side of the road. Parking by the base's remote hillside, Jesse checked for passersby. Once he knew that they were in the clear, he nudged a half-awake Fareeha and started reaching in the back seat to grab his things.

Nervously shifting between takes of inspecting his surroundings and grabbing his two arms full of luggage, he treaded uphill towards the base's back entrance, hoping that Fareeha would be trailing right behind him. About a third of the way there, McCree had to catch his breath, underestimating the weight of a suitcase filled with boxes of ammunition and whiskey, that and the frosty wind putting up a fight and freezing his fingers onto the handles-he used his second wind and pushed further. Nearing the top, Jesse looked over his shoulder to see how Fareeha was holding up, but she was nowhere in sight. At first, he panicked, believing that something was terribly wrong. Was there someone in the bushes? Did she fall? He dropped both cases and came forcibly sprinting down the hill. Once he made it back down, he couldn't speak he was so out of breath, unable to see Fareeha still in the car since he was too preoccupied with kneeling over to get some oxygen back into his system. He snapped his head up to the car window to see that Fareeha was alright, which she was, but not in the way that he wanted her to be.

She didn't appear deep in thought nor did she seem hurt in any way to where she was unable to walk, completely untouched and her seatbelt still on. McCree knocked on the glass to get her attention, but she continued to be locked in her trance. He scratched out the notion that she was alright and scrammed himself back into the driver's seat, he nudged her again, more forcefully this time. "Uh…Miss Amari, are you there?" McCree chuckled nervously.

"I would prefer you not patronize me." The Egyptian whispered,

"Now you listen here, you just gave me a massive fright rollin' down them rocks, y'hear? And I believe there's something you're not telling me. Either that, or you did tell me something beforehand and it just might've slipped my mind somehow, then in that case I apologize."

Fareeha seemed weaker with each passing second, refusing to make eye contact, "Oh, no…it's not you, don't worry about me."

Taking in Fareeha's retort as absolute nonsense, McCree stayed reluctant. "Well, if you intend on stayin' here in the car, I'll be happy to come back later with some coloring books and then when it gets dark we can tell ghost stories and do shadow puppets."

"It's not funny, Jesse." Fareeha declared, this time actually making eye contact and boldly raising her voice.

McCree tilted his head and raised his brows, "Well, I'm starting to believe that what you said to me back at the hospital parking lot wasn't really the truth." With Fareeha's continuation of looking out the car window, McCree had now confirmed that he was right. "Now I would like to ask again, and I mean this in a sincere fashion, are you okay?"

That question had somehow resonated within Fareeha; no, of course she wasn't. But the obvious answer had still left her with so many questions. Surely a simple "no" wouldn't suffice. A plethora of emotions and memories would have to be spilt to describe in detail why she "wasn't okay". But she wanted to just say no, she wanted to scream the word to the heavens so somebody would understand the meaning behind why she wasn't okay. "I just keep asking myself these questions, when does it end? When can I just settle down and let things work for me?"

"Alright, I didn't tell you to get hypothetical on me. Let's start from the beginning."

Fareeha's throat tightened, she tried to swallow, hoping that the lump would vanish, but to no avail, "I came into her room, she had looked the same as last time, I made myself known and she noticed I was there." There had been the return of details that she wanted to push down deep and block out with sheets of wood, but she still remembers them as if it was her best day on Earth, "…She just wouldn't talk to me. She can't talk to me. I wanted to tell her what how I was feeling. She's not getting better, Jesse."

"Y'know, this whole dilemma is takin' me back to my times at Blackwatch-not that it's about all the killin' or anything just so you know." McCree pulled an awkward chuckle, praying that it would lighten the mood, nobody was laughing, that was his cue to get to the point, "In the beginning, I joined the force because had no choice, I felt like I was going to spend the rest of my life bein' pushed around doin' work I had never approved of. And the thing was, I was doin' it day in n' day out. Heh, was starting to drive me nuts. I kept reminding myself of the times I was in the Deadlock Gang, Reyes swore he would give me a whoopin' if I ever brought those words up to him again and I resented him for it. Y'know, sometimes we feel as though the world around us is spinnin' too fast and we're finding it more of a chore to keep up with it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

McCree notices he should really get to the point right about now.

"Look, the point is that no matter what happens, you can either hold onto them fond pieces of the past, or you can look onto the horizon and wonder what's yet to come. Right now, you're on middle ground, and you ain't gettin' anywhere. And the good thing is that the present can be temporary. But if you can't accept that, you're just…stuck." McCree wondered for a moment, not knowing anything else to further add, "It _will_ get better, it's just that now we have to wait and see what happens."

McCree began to exit the car, "I say we talk about it more when we get inside, where I'm not freezing my tuckus off. Can you do that?"

Fareeha reached into the back seat and grabbed the large chrome briefcase, took a deep breath, opened the passenger's side door and stepped out of the car. She stood in front of the cowboy, giving him a lighthearted half-smile.

McCree tipped his hat, "That a girl,"

* * *

Already feeling the pounding headache that came with the usually long days at the pub, Lena was slowly awoken by the morning sun that had assaulted her dreary eyes. Struggling to drag herself out of bed, everything was already an inconsistent blur with just a few things she could identify, one being the doorway out of her room. Feeling like a zombie, Lena trembled for some morning coffee to wake herself up, not until she had realized that the counter top she had was apparently non-existent at the moment. But since Lena was too hung over to care, she just shrugged it off. She then realized that she wasn't wearing anything but her undershirt and pajama bottoms, with her chronal accelerator as an exception still buzzing and humming at the center of her thorax.

Wobbling back to her room, she made her way to the closet which was strangely in the same room in contrast to her memories of it always being in the adjacent hallway. She clumsily snatched the fizzled apparition being her sky blue, button-down shirt and slipped through the short sleeves, never bothering to button it up over the bulky device. Failing to locate the drawer that held her denim jeans, Lena decided to come back and search later when her vision and cognitive functions returned.

She made her way back into the strangely lit room. It wasn't until she saw a small figure manifest itself in front of her that she started to question why everything was turning upside-down.

"Tracer, I almost didn't recognize you!" Said the figure in a small, female Chinese accent.

"Hey, you're not supposed to call me th-" But before Lena could finish her sentence, flashing red lights were beginning to go off in her head. Apparently, there was an intruder in her flat. But, of course, she was still too hung over care, rubbing her eyes aggressively, Lena had clearer vision of the intruder. But seeing upon reveal who the intruder was left Lena only with more questions than answers. Because this wasn't no burglar, it was someone that she had recognized before. Which left her wondering: why was Mei Ling Zhou sneaking into her apartment? Then she decided to look around and absorb her surroundings for a moment. Now she knew why, because this wasn't her apartment at all.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the blinding rays from the ceiling light nearly twenty feet above her, she was at an abandoned Overwatch base, and she'd been at this one before.

Lena had recognized the architecture, how it was composed of hallways and how each individual hallway was interlocked with its own special room. There was the locker room, the mess hall, the barracks, and the recreational purpose room that Lena was in right now. The top floor had the meeting and situation rooms which were prohibited from those of lower rank.

Besides realizing where she was, Lena was in frantic demand of how she got there in the first place. Mei still stood directly in front of her, her dumb smile of excitement being unresponsive to Lena's dismay of the situation.

"Thank goodness, you're awake." Said Angela from behind the sofa in the other room, she peeked a head, eyeing Lena's confusion.

"Angie, what the hell is going on here?" Before she could get an answer, Lena is welcomed by two gigantic, hairy arms from behind, as they begin to squeeze, she retaliated with full force, "Ah! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Winston releases to avoid Lena's flailing arms in self-defense, he takes a few steps back, scratching the nape of his neck in embarrassment, "Sorry sorry, hehe. It's…uh…it's been a while."

Coming into understanding that Winston had given Lena a surprise welcoming, she couldn't feel more embarrassed herself, "Oh, hey, nice to see you again, big guy." She leapt in for an awkward hug to make the ape scientist feel better, also because of how long it's been since they've shown this much affection towards one another, "Greetings aside, I would first like to know why I'm not back at home. Did someone drug me?"

Angela answered to rebuttal," No, Lena, you were drunk. By the time you and I made it here, you had a BAC level of .26%,"

"Now I don't-"

Angela nudged her over to the monitor on her computer for proof, the decimal was right in front of her, clear as day, "You weren't drugged, it was all you."

Lena paused, checking if her vision and judgement were beginning to return, "Well I'm fine now so can I go home, please?"

"Not exactly," Winston hesitated, he looked over at Angela, who nodded at him to continue, "I'd hate to say this but I believe you're in danger,"

Lena scoffed, "Are you taking the piss? Winston, if I was in real danger, I would be in the middle of a war zone or kept in a Talon prison or something."

Winston explained, "This is nothing like that, for the past few months I've found evidence of someone or something possibly stalking members of Overwatch, it may be the reason why Talon has had the edge in preventing the force's revival all this time. They apparently use an extremely advanced computer system that can monitor activities across the globe for anything of pro-Omnic or pro-Overwatch relations. I don't know how they do it so quickly and efficiently but apparently, it's working."

"Okay…what does this have to do with me?"

"This has everything to do with you, Lena. You're one of Overwatch's greatest assets, remember? Even if you haven't been involved with the task force recently, they will still see you as a person of interest. That and more importantly I care about your well-being." Winston added.

"If you actually cared about my well-being you wouldn't worry about it so much."

Angela grunted in frustration, "Lena, can you please take this seriously?"

"I would if Winston can explain why I can't just stay in my flat and wait it out."

"I can't,"

"Why not?" Lena snapped back.

"Because I don't know how serious this is. I don't know how much power this person has or if it's more than one person or if they're even involved in Talon, it may be a hunch but it's a very possible one." Winston explained.

Lena's eyes widened in disbelief, "So, you're just paranoid then? Is that it? Oh, ain't that just chipper! At first, I was actually starting to believe I was in danger."

Winston lashed back, "Maybe you aren't, Lena, but then me and the rest of us probably still are! Right, Professor Ling Zhou?"

Mei nodded accordingly.

"Whether you like it or not, we still have to keep you here as an accomplice. We've had the Professor here retrieve things from your apartment that may be deemed important to you in this case." Winston grabbed the briefcase from the countertop behind him and placed it in front of Lena's feet, "You can go home once we can assure you're safe to,"

"How about _I_ assure myself that I'm safe, which I am! Angie, I would like to go back to my flat," Receiving awkward silence, Lena turned a head over to Angela's disdain." …Did you hear me? I said take me home!"

Angela crossed her arms as she shook her head, "I'm afraid that's out of my ability for the time being, Lena."

"No no no no no, you don't…dammit, Angie, don't do this to me!"

Angela continued giving her the silent treatment, not putting up with any more of Lena's temper. The Brit began to hyperventilate, pacing around the room in small circles. She frantically scratched her bare scalp which transitioned into violent clawing.

"Urgh!" Lena blinked into the room in which she stumbled out of, slamming the door behind her.

Mei looked around her, having just witnessed Lena's hissy fit and now left wondering to herself, "So is it-"

"No, Mei, we've told you this ahead of time." Angela interrupted.

Putting her head down, Mei walked over to the poorly decorated cake on the Rec room table with blue frosting scribbles that spelled out, " **WELCOME BACK, TRACER!** ". She hesitantly grabbed the cake, escorting it to the trash bin at the very back corner of the room.

Without another word, Winston calmly headed back to his office. Filled with disappointment, Angela trailed along with the scientist. "Well, I hope this is what you wanted. The young woman is right where you want her, safe and secure, now what?"

"Don't make this as tiresome for me as it already is, okay? I know this is going to be a brand new ordeal for her, just try to see it through."

"See it through? What, do you think this will magically solve our problems?"

"I was never going to say 'magically', more…theoretically,"

"Now tell me this, and I want your honesty this time, is this about Tracer or is this about Overwatch. More precisely is this more about you?"

Not knowing how to precisely answer Angela's condescending question without making himself look like the ignorant one in the room, Winston sat back in his chair, pretending to still have a finger on the subject.

" _Ach du lieber Himmel!_ You have no idea what you're doing, do you? After all those months of being so in denial of Lena needing help and ignoring the advice I have given you, you can't just say that you've opened your eyes to see there's an actual issue, it's been a year Winston, a year! And what kind of progress have _you_ made? First, I see you talking to someone through an anonymity network that you don't know-"

"-I was about to get to that-"

"Then, you call me at 12:30 AM saying, without any context, to bring Lena directly to your HQ against her will and while she's clearly drunk-"

"-I didn't know she was drunk and I apologize-"

"Oh, and would you like to know why she was drunk? Because after spending my morning being yelled at and threatened by Lena to the point of actual tears, I had elected to just say 'screw it' and let her drink herself into rehabilitation, which may sound like a massive juxtaposition but I can assure you it has done a way better job than me."

Winston raised a hand and squinted in disbelief, "Lena…threatened you?"

"I can't work with her, it's impossible. She just has this mindset that whatever situation comes her way, she can handle on her own, it's maddening. She said these…things. It didn't even sound like her own words."

"Then why are you judging me about how I'm treating Lena's condition versus how you've been-"

"I'm done with treating her, she's your burden now, do you understand?"

Angela confirmed her claim to Winston, who was expressing a bit of doubt, "Yes, you heard me right," She jabbed her hand into her purse to pull out her signature ugly notebook, violently shaking it in front of Winston, "Evaluations are over, all of them!" She then focused his attention towards the trash bin that she carelessly slammed the notebook into.

Not knowing how to respond, Winston shrugged, "Well then, I guess I'll see what I can do."

Angela rubbed her temples, "At least tell me what you've been doing so I know what's going on, please."

"Okay, but you're not going to like it." Winston reached for the mouse and opened the window of his anonymity browser, "When I was contacting that anonymous figure just before you left, I…couldn't help but feel guilty, so I tried messaging them again to call the deal off. They wouldn't respond."

Angela seemed glad, but in a way that felt bittersweet.

"That's when I noticed something. Take a look." The ape clicked open the chatroom box, revealing a long thread that Angela had only caught snippets of earlier:

 _Graueri: "I was told that you could help me out."_

 _invisiblΞ_rΣd: "speak quick, I"_

 _invisiblΞ_rΣd: "can't chat for long"_

"This message right here splits off and then continues in a separate one, and then the same behavior continues along the rest of the thread. I counted the characters of when it would abruptly stop before continuing to the next, that includes commas, apostrophes, and punctuations. Sometimes it would be in the middle, other times it would be after just one character. But the significant part of it is that it never stops at the same amount. Each one that I've counted was between one and twenty-one total characters. Now this here is the last time I made contact.":

 _Graueri: "So, will I get it in an email or…"_

 _invisiblΞ_rΣd: "i'll be sure"_

 _invisiblΞ_rΣd: "u get it"_

 _invisiblΞ_rΣd: "tomorrow"_

 _You have been disconnected from the chat room_

"The beginning of each message is a letter in the alphabet that's also between one and twenty-one, A through U. So one line can point to I-10 and another can be U-6."

"Are you telling me that this person has hidden coordinates in this message thread?" Angela asked.

"Exactly, but what puzzled me was how simplistic they were since they wouldn't correlate when I put them on a graph or grid, and they aren't geographical. I was about to give up on my hunch until I decided to look back at screenshots of the chats we had for the past week, they all followed the same exact pattern except this time the letters would point to new numbers. I put them all together and made this."

Winston taps the keyboard and displays a 21x21 grid, going across each row of squares, some become filled in black while others are left blank. The result was a recognizable pattern.

Angela's jaw nearly dropped to the floor, "A QR code? What does it say?"

"It doesn't _say_ anything. But it did show something that caught me off guard."

Winston tapped to a number on the screen, _3945_50_ , Tracer's ID.

* * *

Just by the edge of the New England rocky islands was the base in which Talon lurked. The large girth compensated for its lack in stature with steel walls encased in thick layers of concrete masonry, complete with gorgeous scenery full of natural limestone pillars and freshwater shores that brought powerful waves, making their way up the cliffs to splash the grassy fields and other flora that populated the hillsides. Able to blend in with the evergreen forestry and rocky terrain, the base held strong standards when it came to being secluded. The most interesting thing about the base, however, was the addition of separate facilities for increased security, one of which was an enclosed bunker for the sleeper agent, Widowmaker. Not because the assassin preferred being alone, but that the other agents were too terrified to have a bunk right next to her. The interior was just a paper thin cot with a six-by-twelve inch window capturing the center of the base. To call it a normal living quarters was like calling a gas station fine dining, you could say it was for solitary confinement and you wouldn't have to change a thing.

The reason for the base's short stature was that, just like a glacier, most of it was underground for covert operations. At the very bottom was the main control room managed by two interns; former computer engineers who were dealt the short straw when it came to finding work. Confined in a singular room, a cutting-edge supercomputer buzzing and breathing, a neon gollum of information and intelligence, row by row, column after column would power talon's technological advances.

Given their new task of searching through Sombra's flash drive, they have found an array of folders containing files of a code that was incomprehensible to them, turns out that the infamous hacker was known for inventing hundreds of new codes that only she knew, running the code through different ciphers left them only scratching their heads as they revealed more lines of code. Except in this case, these lines formed the shapes of what appeared to be two-dimensional animals and fruits. But then others just so happened to be impressive works of art like detailed portraits, one of which being the hacker herself along with Reaper and Widowmaker as well as famous landmarks with a couple of skyscrapers and mountains. Apparently this folder was filled with what the hacker happened to do in her free time. They kept searching through the other folders, one containing only GIF files with cats, another containing a wallet of some unknown cryptocurrency, and that's when things got creepy.

Soon, they were finding security camera footage of an unsuspecting Overwatch agent at an apartment complex. Within visibility was Sombra in the background waving to said camera as she stalked him through his rear window for several hours. There were folders with profiles of deceased individuals that may or may not have been enemies of Talon, they included images of them at the morgue, their corpses pale and bloated with bullet holes in their chests, showing transcripts and audio logs of their very last words before their untimely demise. Then there were images of Talon prisoners in one of the many prohibited torture chambers with their limbs and appendages attached to God knows what. After looking through the other files, the intern decided to take a quick break after nearly fainting.

There was one last folder, unlike the others, this one wasn't labeled. Hesitantly, the intern gave it a double click only to be welcomed by a window indicating that it was somehow password protected. "The hell?" The intern exclaimed, catching the attention of intern number two.

"What's up?" He said, swiveling towards the monitor,

He made another take at the description in the window and read how the contents required permission to access from their supervisor, "Since when do these things need Agent Lexington's password?"

* * *

Eying and inspecting the details of her rifle, the blue skinned sniper isolated herself in her enclosed bunk. It had just gotten dark, yet she couldn't sleep. The output in her body count had been dragged down in the past week and she could feel herself going into withdrawal. She wanted to do more, but they wouldn't let her. If only there was some way she could negotiate a random hit just for her, just to get rid of this feeling. She hated boredom, because it just made her want to kill even more. She wondered why she was still here and why the only task that she had called her job had turned into a livelihood, more precisely an overwhelming strain on her sanity and judgement.

But that was wrong, Reaper had warned her of those feelings. When she was finding herself jaded through following simple orders, she realized that you can no longer follow a higher cause, you can act only out of the greatest weapon you have, the survival instinct. She could bring herself to do it, it was entirely possible. Yet some unknown force draws her back, and it feels oddly welcoming.

Ready to settle down to try and get some shut eye, she sensed a presence. It was a powerful one at that, a strong heat that contrasted the assassin's stone cold body temperature. Then from exactly where she could feel the location of said presence, a flash of light manifested itself. Still relying on instinct, she grabbed hold of the rifle and pointed the business end towards the figure in front of her.

Sombra stood in the corner wide-eyed, mouth ajar, sarcastically raising both hands above her head in submission. Widowmaker sighed and lowered her rifle, "Oh, it's you," She sat back down, resuming her inspection.

The hacker chuckled wholeheartedly, "Aye, what's with all the melancholy over here? You're missing out on the party!" She was holding a porcelain China plate piled haphazardly with kebabs of various cheeses and meats along with some sandwich rolls and hors d'oeuvres.

"I thought that was for the executives only…it is, isn't it?"

"It's crazy, right? We almost never get food like this!" Without even asking, Sombra settled herself in right next to Widowmaker on the concrete bench, immediately digging into the comestibles on the piece of fine China. After stuffing one cheek, she took the empty hand and raised the plate up to the sniper's face of revulsion. "Eh?"

The assassin shook her head, "I just thought that after your punishment you would have learned your lesson about stealing from us."

Sombra shrugged, "Really? Didn't seem like it to me."

"Do you even know what the definition of stealing is?"

"No no, I understand the whole 'stealing' part. It's just that I was wondering why you thought that there was some kind of lesson to be learned. All I can remember is having all the council members laugh at me along with the entire Christmas list of punishments they shoved down my throat. But a lesson? Nah, don't think so." Sombra stuffed a second cheek.

Widowmaker stood bewildered, "How do you do that?"

Sombra stopped right in the middle of another hors d'oeuvre, " _Que?_ "

"To brush something off like that, to act like it never even happened."

Sombra swallowed, taking an available thumb to wipe the crumbs off her upper lip. She then slammed the plate onto the empty seat adjacent to her and rubbed her hands clean, "Well, you see, _chica_ , to be honest with you-and I don't wanna try to sound off-putting when I say this-ehhh come here." She wagged a finger towards her.

Widowmaker obliged, not knowing why.

"Closer," Sombra added, wagging a finger towards her a second time.

Widowmaker did so, now inches from the hacker's face.

Sombra turned a head and snarled, teeth and etched brows in all. "I don't, okay!" She disturbingly returned to her chill demeanor, keeping her wide-eyed stare and chiseled grin with the distance uncomfortably close with the sniper, "What happened to me in there was horrible. Beyond the pale. Mentally and emotionally, I am in tremendous, abundant amounts of pain. Meaning right now, right as we're talking, I feel like shooting myself, I feel like…" Sombra grunted abruptly, both her and Widowmaker looked down to see the tips of her diamond claws sunk deep into her outer thigh. Just noticing this, the hacker pulled them out like they were toothpicks in an apple, the blood trickled down her leg as she examined her now messy hacking equipment, returning to her respective boundaries in the process. "…Doing that. But you know what? When you're taken out to dry like that, there's nothing you can really do."

"Or you can just get over it and let people know your real name for once." Widowmaker looked away, pretending that what she just said had never escaped her lips. There was only silence that followed, which was uncomfortable considering Sombra was still sitting right next to her, that's when she knew for sure that what she said was causing her to tread on thin ice. "…Just as a suggestion,"

Sombra's mouth twitched spastically as it puckered and tucked, her cheeks swelled before she busted into a fit of manic and rapid giggles. The laughter increased in intensity, she leaned over to the point of her purple tips touching the metal floor. When she had relaxed, she got up to look at the sniper again and saw how serious she was. She leaned over for another wave of laughter to hit. She finally settled after catching her breath, "Whoo! Man, they really do tell you everything that happens here, huh?"

"That's who I was made to be, every detail is valuable leverage, even in the long term."

"No stone left unturned, I like that." Sombra tapped the seat with her finger. She then started tapping her foot, letting out a long, exaggerated breath, "Okay, then allow me to teach you why what you said is the most ignorant and ridiculous thing anybody has ever told me to do,"

Widowmaker shot her attention back to Sombra and raised a brow, "Teach me?"

* * *

"Wattsburg, what's been taking you so long?" Shouted Agent Lexington barging into the control room, his composure stiff and bold. Typical behavior for a strict, high standards boss, but to those with experience working with this man, he might as well have been fuming.

"Nothing, it's just…we need your help with this," Intern number one responded, already sweating.

"What is 'this', in which you're referring to, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It's just what showed up on screen, Lexington sir."

"What? Was I born yesterday?! It's a computer. It's supposed to do that!"

"I didn't mean anything like that, sir. The thing's password protected, that's all. It was just…uh…something you could help us out with…sir." He gulped nervously, looking back at the monitor.

"Certainly, I'd love to do your job! Would you like me to wipe your ass too? Get out of the chair!" Agent Lexington drove the intern to the back of the room like he had chased away a pigeon. He sat down and flailed the mouse around like he was wielding a knife. "I can't believe this. A little window shows up asking for a password and your initial response is to play village idiot."

Without any issue, Lexington was successfully able to log into the strange file, "Ha, you cocky little brat, thinking I wouldn't know my own passw-". Instead of the folder actually opening, another window showed up on screen, this one with a distinct purple skull watermark in the background. Right in the center was a message.

 _Downloading… día _ del _ juicio . exe_

Just popping up below the message was a purple bar. It was filling up disturbingly quick.

* * *

"First, you have to understand the true structure of our society." Sombra raises a finger from each hand, one distinctly bloodier than the other, "Two categories, you're either a statistic or an individual. In-group, out-group."

"Don't you mean the other way around?" Widowmaker asked,

"Wrong, you see, that's where they trick you! That's because society only cares about individuals. That's all they ever want is individuals. They make it seem like if you become a statistic like everybody else, you're just as special."

"What does that make me then?"

Sombra paused, eyes scattering the floor, "You? That's not important, I don't really see how much the rules apply to you as they do to me or anybody else for that matter, so don't worry about that for now. As I was saying-"

"Is that why you feel so keen on me warming up to you?" Widowmaker interrupted again,

Sombra sighed, "No, it's because since you don't have so many 'conflicting emotions' to contradict my assertion of calling you my friend, I don't feel any reason to do so…you know, from the vibe you're giving off, it appears you really don't like my company."

"Then I'm sorry if you feel that I'm not giving you the proper attention a one track minded child like yourself needs to keep themselves entertained."

"Hey now, I didn't want this to be turned into pointless name-calling. I would just appreciate it…" Noticing that she was refusing to make eye contact, Sombra pinched the very top of Widowmaker's glowing metal visor, forcing her head to turn towards her, " _Appreciate_ it if you would stop talking over me."

Widowmaker rolled her eyes. "Oh no, please, continue."

"Thank you, as I was saying...I was a statistic once, and never again will I be. Wanna know why? Because in an ironic twist, the more you hide yourself, the more everyone starts to take notice of you. If only more people understood, everyone nowadays sees someone who wants to suppress those typical urges of conformity and the first thing they do is shake their heads. Heh, it's cowardice they say. Hypocritical of them to think so. I mean without secrets and lies what does that make us?"

"Just a bunch of statistics?" Widowmaker answered,

" _Dios mio_ , you catch on quick! You see, it's a way of survival-a little detour from following the trail of this social bandwagon everyone's so eager to hop onto." Sombra chuckled, but suddenly her sumptuous grin faded. She stared at the wall for a moment, appearing deep in thought, "But you've got it easy; I learned that the hard way. A long time ago, I actually had friends and a family. The real cliché kind that wouldn't care about money or lifelong ambition, just spending your days eating and sleeping and every once in a while just play in the grass, and in one fell swoop it's all taken away from you and you're left with nothing but a pile of ashes at your feet and mountains of rubble and debris where your neighborhood was. I remember that emotion, the first and only time I actually cried, not for attention like some infant, but a real emotional response; grief. Just the carnage of it all, mangled up corpses of people I talked to, people I hugged, people that gave me pecks on the cheek as I left for school in the morning. Next thing I knew I was taken in by the military, I was so traumatized I didn't want to talk, they put me in this room with nothing but a television screen. I remember the number they put on that screen, over thirty thousand casualties…thirty thousand. They couldn't even bother to give an exact amount. I never saw the name of my mother, my father, all that number said to me was that they were nothing, including myself. They had no legend to pass on, they had nobody else to mourn them and say that 'Their deaths were not in vain'. I never got anything in return after everything was taken away from me, except for one thing; my name."

* * *

The bar had reached 100%, the window had closed out.

"What is this? What's going on?" Agent Lexington shouted, jolting himself out of the chair,

"You should know better than me, sir."

"Oh, I swear to Nuclear Christ, if this is some kind of elaborate joke to get back at me, you're gonna-"

In the corner of Agent Lexington's eye, a few swift, bright jolts of electricity channeled through the power cables connecting the monitors to the computers and the computers to the power outlets. Over time, the jolts became more prominent and violent as they reached the walls and ceiling. Sparks began flying out of the cabinets, their lights going out one after another, creating a domino effect down every aisle. All the lights of the security doors and elevators went dark, slamming them shut. The ceiling lights shot out blinding radiance before fizzling and fading out, leaving each and every room in the base in darkness.

Agent Lexington and the interns, too terrified and confused to yell at anyone or anything, could only wait for some kind of explanation. Suddenly, a single monitor flickered open. Lexington found himself drawn to it in his own curiosity. It emitted a deep red haze, large pixels of tinted white began to manifest by the second. Leaning in closer, the pixels began swarming and overwhelming the red background. Once they settled, the red screen had returned, this time with a calavera but with big, devil-like horns. The skull stood on the screen for a few seconds until it began to shake, more specifically glitch out. Agent Lexington began to reach for the mouse before the speakers blasted a maniacal high-pitched laugh. Hundreds of Talon agents through the chambers and hallways covered their ears as the cackle rippled through the intercom.

The Agent froze in place, his palms clammy, his eyes too fixed on the screen to do anything. The sense of danger is overwhelming.

Both interns are welcomed by a loud boom and blast of intense heat erupts from the monitor, so intense that the two are swept off their feet and painfully launched into the computer cabinets. The blast becomes accompanied by pieces of glass and metal, ripping through clothing. Smoke and flames encompass the room, with a giant wall of fire consuming the computer.

"Holy shit!" The intern screams as he runs over to see Agent Lexington's burning corpse, his charred body now making him completely undistinguishable. The flames reach themselves further as they consume the technology around them, the heat and smoke cook and choke the innocent employees in its grueling nature.

Meanwhile, other rooms and chambers suffer the same claustrophobic fate, everything from toasters to televisions and vending machines let out waves of electricity before either exploding or spontaneously combusting with manic agents, panicking to escape, climbing over one another and leaving those less fortunate to be crushed under the crowds, their faces and ribs shattered under rampant bootheels. But their will to live is ignored, sparks hit sheets of paper and drywall and the support beams and dangling lights collapse and crash onto unsuspecting victims before going through the floors of every underground level-the entire structure begins to collapse. If the interns had managed to survive the initial fire, albeit highly unlikely, several levels of burning steel have already caved in and buried them hundreds of feet underground. Pipelines burst open and fuel the fire as it erupts to the surface.

* * *

"When it was over, all these people came in saying how they wanted to help rebuild. They had the audacity to call themselves philanthropists. But I knew why they were there. They didn't see a destroyed civilization or a family torn apart by circumstance, they saw only dollar signs and a giant herd of frantic, stupid sheep in need of a shepherd. Everybody thought that these little cogs were no different than them. They lie and say that their success is through hard work and determination, you know, the same thing that everybody did day after day after day. I was finding the rest of my life dictated by these false idols. And then I realized something. I could tell, they were individuals, and they knew statistics when they saw them. So, I observed their ways. And I learned that hiding your true self is a powerful tool, and when everybody is too afraid of their own shadows to embrace the truth, the best thing you can do is welcome yours." Sombra slowly looked back at Widowmaker and her look of disorientation, "Nobody deserves to know my name…nobody at all."

The bunk suddenly encounters a seismic wave, shaking the sniper into a state of agitation. A radiant blast of orange filled the bunk through the small window, Widowmaker shot up, running over to see what had happened. She stood frozen, a molten carcass of a base bathing in flames that could reach the hemisphere. She was truly disturbed by the barbaric nature, but couldn't find it in herself to look away.

"Aye aye, don't worry about that," Sombra stood up and walked towards the window, "Like I said…they're just statistics."

All sense of judgement was giving out in a pulse of adrenaline through every cerebral membrane, that urge to kill had erupted from Widowmaker's frozen core, Sombra's sharp, shameless grin was the target. In another blast, an amber luminescence developed an aura and yet she remained still, the moment was no longer blurred, it was perfect. Widowmaker grabbed the rifle faster than she could even fathom to be humanly possible. She spun around, switching the gun into sniper mode, and pointed the gun right at the hacker's head, wondering why she couldn't bring herself to kill her minutes ago. But before she could pull the trigger, the same flash of pink and purple had returned, overwhelming the flames from behind Sombra as they consumed the outline of her figure. And just like that, they disappear, and the hacker along with it.

Widowmaker, pulls the trigger, only to leave a gaping welt into the wall in front of her. The lights fizzle and fade out, She hears the click of the door to her bunk as it mysteriously autolocks. She lowers the rifle and runs to the door, the mechanism flashes a red "locked" screen, confused, the sniper taps it before being welcomed to a purple screen with Sombra's signature calavera. With her urge to kill becoming increasingly more overbearing, she bangs on the door in desperation, screaming until her lungs gave out. She gives up, admitting to herself that she is trapped.

Just outside of the base is a translocator beacon hidden within the tall grass of the forests. It hums with spectacles of pink and flashes a full figure from the light. Sombra appears and breaths in fresh air and smoke from the already burning base. She grabs the beacon and makes her way to the wreckage, scouting for any guards and/or survivors.

A cloud of black mist consumed in flames pours from a window and makes its way towards Sombra, causing her to stumble back. As the fumes became noticeably more pungent, Reapers burning mask manifested itself to deliver an agonizing wail. The smoke dies down, littering the grass with stains of charcoal black, the clouds forming arms, clamoring over to her with a crawl of desperation and anguish. The crawl slows as the smoke thins, becoming less prominent along with the consuming embers. Without another word, Reaper's cracking mask looks up to Sombra as the reason for his despair.

Smirking out of superiority, Sombra kneels down, she tilts her head, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

The mask drops to the ground by Sombra's shoeless feet, the wind blowing away the last remnants of smoke and heat as it basks in the moonlight. She places a foot onto the mask, channeling her rage and contempt into the increasing pressure. The cracks line up to the edges. The mask shatters, giving Sombra an ever so pleasing sound.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't until the morning sunrise came when the wind blew out the last remaining embers left over from the disarray of the Talon base. The smoke trails could be seen for miles, causing a massive commotion from witnesses believing it to be a forest fire. A flood of 911 calls came rushing in due to the concern of their safety. Before the incident could rattle up suspicion, Talon had to act now to keep their activities a secret. They sent over a few agents to investigate. Currently, it's been an hour since they have arrived at the scene. Most of that time was spent on hosing down the molten metal. A search team of about twenty-five men was all they had to figure out the mystery.

" _Have anything new for us, captain?"_ A distorted voice came in through the transmitter beacon on the agents' helmets.

"Uhhh…nothing yet. Right now, we're having our men scavenge through the wreckage, whatever may have been of use is either destroyed or somewhere else entirely. From what we could gather our guess is foul play or espionage. Based on the base's security and architecture, it would be impossible that some accident would cause this much chaos. Eyewitness accounts say the explosion was massive, blasted the top off with so much force we found bits of rubble in the middle of the forest. As for the rest of it, well…let's say there's now a hundred-foot hole in the ground." The captain looked over his shoulder at the men with firehoses, "Hey, easy with that thing! There may be electrical currents still exposed."

" _Any survivors?"_ The voice came in again.

"Highly unlikely but we'll keep looking."

" _Don't bother, if there's anything that we can use for evidence,_ that _is our main priority from here on out. Whoever did this is most likely still out there and can be extremely dangerous so they must be dealt with ASAP."_

"Affirmative,"

"Hey, come look at this!" Shouted an agent reaching down for something in the tall grass. From afar, he held something solid and glistened a chalky white, he raised it up to the others, "Found this in some kind of…pile of ashes."

The captain looked over his shoulder, "Care to clarify that last part for me, corporal?"

"Yeah, it was some burnt crap that was splattered just in that area where I found it, it was like jet black, the consistency was super weird."

The captain eagerly followed behind the corporal, his desperation quite noticeable.

Upon reveal, he is found to be perplexed but not really satisfied, he gave the specimen the prod of his finger to ensure he could agree with the corporal's description, "Looks kinda like a silhouette. See the arms and upper torso?" He looked back at the agents circling him, they all exchanged puzzled looks, "No? Guess it's just me."

"Wait, I see footprints!" An agent pointed his finger at the prints, clear as day, "There's some over here as well,"

The captain squatted down to get a closer look, the prints were oddly thin, almost barefoot.

"The right foot left a blood trail, so they must've been caught in the middle of all this, this might be our culprit." With everyone circling the scene, they all followed the footprints, "Somebody walked over to whatever the hell this was…stumbled back…stopped…right here is where they walked away from the scene…and they continue right by the cliffside…only to end almost abruptly. If they were to leap off into the water they would definitely be crushed by the rocks or the waves would carry them off…this makes no sense." The captain thought for a while, "Did you find any more prints where you're standing?"

"Yeah, right here, sir-oh no, wait, those are mine, sorry."

Just in the corner of his eye, the captain pointed towards an unusual structure hidden beneath the branches, "What's in that cabin behind you?"

The agent volunteered to investigate the small metal cabin isolated from the rest of the base, it's peculiarity of being completely untouched caused the others to stand beside him at a considerable distance in eager anticipation. He felt for the rectangular outline that made the entrance, there were no handles, knobs, or buttons of any kind. "It's sealed shut, locked from the inside."

Noticing the narrow window on the other side, the agent got on his tippy toes and nonchalantly decided to peek in, with his head blocking the sunlight, he appeared to have a difficult time with seeing what was at the very back corner of the dark, secluded room. Before he could comprehend that there was something in there that was almost certainly human, the light reflected off the metal barrel of a rifle pointed directly at the agent's face. He immediately dropped down before he heard the crackling boom from inside the room, followed by a Doppler effect whoosh right above him. With his ears still ringing, he scrunched himself up against the wall in defense.

"What was that?!" An agent yelled.

"I don't know but it tried to kill me!"

"Get that door open." Ordered the captain, rallying a few startled agents. They all swarmed around the barren metal doorway with anticipation. Using a saw to separate the door's deadbolt, an agent across from them pulls the pin from a frag grenade, his fingers firmly grasping the lever.

"No, don't! That could be a witness. Subdue them!" Ordered the captain.

Obeying orders, he puts the pin back in and secures the grenade back in his holster. He instead calls for the soldier holding a gun made for non-lethal incapacitation. He sticks the barrel through the narrow opening of the unlocked door and blindly fires an electrocharged net. Judging from the muffled screams from inside the room, the agent assures them that he has hit his target. The captain orders the agents to wait a few seconds before rushing in after he knows for sure the target is subdued. Upon entering with guns at the ready, they witness the writhing, blue humanoid trapped like some animal. With their weapons still trained on her, they release her from the net and restrain her with handcuffs.

The captain spoke into the commlink, "Sir, we've found a survivor, over,"

" _Specification, please?"_

"Uhhh, adult female, armed…and she's blue,"

A long pause settled in, the captain rested his thumb on the transmission button on his commlink.

" _Take her into custody for interrogation,"_

The captain looked over his shoulder, the agents were anxious for their next orders, "Get her to the heli,"

"Yes, captain."

* * *

Most of the misconceptions about those who were on Talon's payroll was that they all shared the organizations beliefs, which wasn't always true. The affluence that came from Talon's corrupt endeavors allowed its executives to offer a very generous pay to the needy and desperate. The scary part was how easy it was for them to reel in some of the smartest and simplest of the working class through "too good to be true" offers; no resume? No problem! Form a union? Go right ahead, we'll compromise! Health insurance, workman's comp, and dental? You get it all! As long as they kept their loyalty and respect to the organization, they would never look back at their old jobs.

Monroe Kingsley, rank of captain, started off as a psychology professor at Yale, but never found admiration from his peers or pupils. He had found more solace at Talon when they saw interest in his insight and leadership skills.

First Lieutenant Katherine Pabst had been a journalist for _Omnic Onslaught_ : a radio show that centered around conspiracy theories regarding the civil rights of Omnics and exposing their "true intentions". Needless to say, Talon had easily sparked her fancy.

The commander was a very private man but would tell of his time working for the FBI, it was a fair run and he was very good at his job. But the one thing he couldn't get over was the constant infighting from within his precinct. At Talon, differing opinions or refusal to conform to a group meant your ass. Here, the commander had peace of mind. Focusing on the task at hand with no opposition- with the exception being the typical questioning of order and counterarguments- was bliss.

Gathered around the conference table at base camp, the leading investigative team exchange souvenirs and artifacts from the crime scene. In the middle of the table was the disassembled rifle that nearly blew the head off the Talon private in the cabin. Kingsley examines the glowing red visor found Out of curiosity, he presses unfamiliar buttons that cover the eyes and focus the lens. "Hey, commander, can I have a turn with that when you're done?"

At the very end of the table, the commander examines the chalky white mask that had been haphazardly reassembled with industrial adhesive. "It's not like I'm playing with it, it's just that I'm…fascinated with the craftsmanship," He slides it over to Kingsley, stopping just within arm's reach.

"Careful, might be cursed," Lieutenant Pabst interjected. Drawing everyone's attention to her bogus claim, "What? Was on that goo monster, could've been like Diablo or something,"

Kingsley rolled his eyes, "Dude, out of everything we've been theorizing today, demons should be the last on our list of possibilities."

"Heh, maybe that's what all this is, the work of a shaman or some Gypsy queen blew up a remote Talon base in the middle of nowhere," Said the commander from over by the coffee maker, discovering it to be empty, "Ridiculous,"

"Don't mean to be a smart alek or anything, sir, but don't you think it's a bit redundant to use 'remote' and 'the middle of nowhere' in the same sentence?"

"Thanks for correcting my grammar, Kingsley, glad that you've made yourself such an asset for this mission." The commander looked over his shoulder at the captain, eyes glued to the floor in embarrassment while the others at the table exchanged chuckled, he sits back at the table and sighs, "Sorry, when I'm in a moment of disbelief I tend to exaggerate my statements. Or we're just out of coffee."

Kingsley's eyes shot back up, "Or maybe it was just a bomb?"

"We've looked at the base's specs and credentials, it has like quadruple deluxe security measures: thermal cameras, wiretaps, fail-safes, private servers, firewalls galore, defenses are beyond fully militarized. You could just be sitting in the employee lounge thinking about blowing it to smithereens and next thing you know you're fed to the sharks. And to be able to sneak in a bomb with that much cataclysmic capability, that does not sound like somebody I'd wanna mess with."

"I know you were speaking figuratively in all; when you said they could tell what others were thinking. But if our culprit did say something in the vicinity of, quote-unquote, 'blowing it to smithereens', wouldn't they have saved us some form of transcript?" Kingsley argued.

"To do that, you would have to remain in contact with another base within a five-hundred-mile radius via satellite and to do _that_ , you would have to access that satellite via a third-party organization and to transfer that data would amount to give or take several hours at least. It was risky enough for us to get the memo of the base's destruction without revealing our location, let alone getting to the base in a helicopter disguised as military personnel."

The commander took a moment to catch his breath and think his next words through, hoping that he would get his point across, "Look, this is Talon you and I are talking about, we keep more and we share less, that's how it's always been. We've become so secluded that we can barely trust ourselves." Without caffeine to supplement his curiosity, he decided that nicotine would suffice as a substitute. Pulling out a packet of menthols, he grabs one of the two remaining cigarettes between his two fingers and uses his other hand to pull out a light. He takes a long draw as he leans back in his seat.

"So, what did they give us?", asked Pabst.

Without another word, the commander takes a few seconds to reach into his pocket, pulling out a thin and limp strip of paper with what appears to be bold printed text. He places it face down on the table and slides it over Pabst.

Using an available thumb to smoothen out the creases, she leans in to read the incredibly small text. **"Base: Alpha-B; Offline-Destroyed"**

"…Son of a bitch."

His moment of disbelief is cut short when a loud sequence of bangs is heard from the floor directly above them, and from experience they immediately recognize the gun to be from one of their soldiers.

Pabst dropped the sheet, "That's gunfire."

"Yeah, no shit," In an involuntary moment of suspense, the commander speaks into the available commlink on his chest, "Corporal, what's going on down there?"

" _It's Matthews! That blue bitch you told us to bring in, he went to unlock her cell. She now has English hostage! There's…there's blood everywhere!"_

Already expecting the worst, the commander grabs his rifle from under the table and rushes out of the room, "Come with me."

Running up the flight of stairs to the top floor that sheltered the prisoner chambers, the commander and his colleagues stormed into the immediate holding station. The screams that they heard becoming clearer and louder until finally coming onto the scene. Just as he expected, a complete bloodbath. Matthew's lifeless body on the floor against the wall, leaving behind a crimson smear as he slid his head down. Hastily panning his head over to where the other agents were huddled, the holding cell was wide open, the blindly contrasting light exposing part the purple humanoid's upper body. The commander ran in along with the others, his rifle at the ready.

There she was, Matthew's gun in hand pointed right at Agent English's skull, already writhing to escape. The others with guns also pointed and still screaming, some almost in tears.

"Stop stop! Hold it hold it! Don't shoot!"

"Get your hands off me!" She hissed, her voice notably sharp and her accent a very defined French.

Running through personal memory of what to do in the event of a hostage situation, the commander was finding himself unable to put his inner thoughts into words to engage in a stressful negotiation. Instead, he is only focused on the imagery in front of him, which is undoubtedly disturbing. A blood-stained cell creating the backdrop for the survivor's deeply contrasting skin tone. But that wasn't the only thing on his nerves. There may have been panic in the other agents, but to the blue-skinned woman there was no sense of tension at all, it was as if English was being held hostage by a mannequin with a gun. Every muscle completely still, unopposed by English's slight resisting jolts. The ultraviolet light had reflected off her eyes, revealing their bright gold luster, completely still and fixated forward at almost nothing.

"Commander, what should we do?!" Shouted Kingsley, standing his ground right next to him.

The commander's gun was shaking in his hands, he was somehow not able to grasp it correctly. Now realizing that he is more focused on the way he was holding his gun instead of the hostage situation in front of him, he had found himself frozen in place. "Everyone, back away slowly."

"What? Commander, she killed Matthews!" Pabst rebutted.

"I'm not losing another one of our men, back away!"

Hesitantly, the agents obliged, taking a few subtle steps back, guns still pointed.

"Now, what the hell do you want?" The commander asked nervously, his hand shaking more erratically.

"Sombra." Widowmaker whispered under her breath, her lips barely moving.

"Huh?"

Widowmaker asked again, "The one you are looking for, they call her Sombra."

" _Sombra_ …that's Spanish for shadow, I'm guessing that's an alias." Kingsley confirmed. "You gonna tell us how we can find her?"

Widowmaker didn't answer, instead she increased the glare fixated on the agents as her lips formed an eerie sharp grin, her grip on English loosened.

* * *

"I want you to sit in that exact chair, alright? If you ever leave that chair without permission, you will be executed." The commander ordered, the other paranoid agents circling her with their rifles at the ready.

"Fair enough." Widowmaker pulled out a chair and sat down.

Kingsley walked over to English who was just coming up the stairs after medical examination to confirm that he was alright.

"Pen and paper, something to write stuff down." Being handed a small pocket notebook with one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other, he leans inward as he reveals a fresh page, "Now…tell us what you've promised us,"

"I'd be more than happy to." Widowmaker leaned back in her seat, her legs crossed, "Your culprit, your unsub, has spent years working for Talon. She is of Mexican nationality and a former member of the infamous Los Muertos gang. She claims to be the organization's lead technical support and an expert in covert black hat hacking. She has been sent on missions to spearhead tasks regarding digital networking and data, mostly involving governments and national conglomerates."

Lieutenant Pabst whispered to the commander, "Guess that rules out your 'insider' premonition, commander. This sounds like someone who knew Talon's codes and schematics by heart."

"That's only scratching the surface of what she is capable of. I've seen her murder others in cold blood before they could even get a glimpse of what she looks like."

"For your information, you and I among others, have done something at least pertaining to that kind of action." The commander argued.

"I wasn't finished. Not only is she a hacker but she's one that can kill through computer systems. I don't know how she does it but she has the knowledge and capability of accessing any piece of technology she can get a hold of. That means that laptop and that security camera behind you is susceptible and vulnerable to sabotage."

"How long has that been on?" Asked a nervous corporal, his full attention on the security camera that he never noticed before until now.

Pabst asked, "So, is that the best of her abilities?"

"Please tell me you're joking. She's joking, right?" The corporal was now sweating and hyperventilating, the commander always knew he could never do well under pressure. He shot up out of his chair and pointed his gun at the camera.

"Sit down, Cornell, this is not the time to get paranoid." The commander assured.

"Oh, but when that time comes, commander, best you keep a head count on your partners."

Everyone shot their attention back to Widowmaker and her ambiguous question. "She may play it cheap but to call her a diplomat would be an understatement. She makes negotiations look like pillow talk."

"What, like a seductive femme fatale of sorts?" Asked Pabst.

" _Contraire_. Cold as ice. I've seen her work, if you just so happen to find yourself sitting with her at breakfast, she will ensure that you never truly understand the difference between conversation and coercion. She only says what she wants you to hear and she only hears what she wants you to say. If neither of those criteria are met, you're just…wasted time. To her, friend is just a sick metaphor but it can shatter egos like glass."

Kingsley asked, "If she's resourceful with social skills, why would she ever contemplate blowing up a Talon base?"

"Because to put it lightly, commander, she is a paranoid sociopath…with a hint of a god complex. And let's just say she doesn't take betrayal lightly. Right now, this is Sombra at her worst state and rest assured it is not pretty; people will die if they get in her way."

"How do we know that you're not just saying her words back to us?" The commander asked suspiciously.

"Do you know why I'm the only survivor? Because I'm the only one who knows her one fatal error." Widowmaker looked around the room before leaning in, "…trusting me."

* * *

Ten minutes to eleven, London time. Angela came up the stairs to Winston's office with a fresh bunch of bananas, placing it right next to the scientist's keyboard, "There you go, fresh from the incubation chamber."

"Thanks, Mercy." Winston murmured, his voice filled with disdain.

At first Angela shrugged it off thinking Winston was going into withdrawal from the supposed lack of peanut butter. But as she went back down the stairs to join the others, she looked over her shoulders to see Winston's monitor still showing the chatroom screenshots of the alleged stalker.

Angela sighed and came back up the stairs to comfort the ape, "Hey, try not to stress out about it so much. Remember, it won't hurt to put it off until tomorrow. Besides, McCree, Amari, and I are having some fun just talking, you should join us."

Winston looked back at Angela, "I'll put it into consideration."

Angela looked out the dark window, "I don't know, it's getting pretty late. It's now or never."

"Then I guess the latter option would have to do."

Angela sighed again, returning back to the rec center with Jesse and Fareeha, who were exchanging jokes and anecdotes between a bottle of whiskey.

"Okay, so there's these two German guys fencing, right? Ones starting to get the upper hand. The other dude, he's already cavin' in, and eventually he does. Now he's all confused tellin' the guy, 'vat am I doing vong?' And then he says, 'I told you zat you need to use more defense,'. Now that only confuses him even more and he says, 'Vut, siss is fencing, I am using _Die_ fence'." The buzzed Jesse let out an exhausted wheeze from laughing at his own supposedly brilliant joke, giving the tabletop a good beating with the palm of his hand. He inhaled to let out one last wail of overconfident laughter while everyone else stayed silent.

"Um, Jesse, it's actually _Der_ fence," Mercy explained from the other table.

"Wow, Mercy, for once I'm glad that you could really APPRECIATE THE GODDAMN JOKE." McCree took a large swig of whiskey, "The nerve."

"You know fencing doesn't have actual fences." Pharah interjected.

"Well, that's the name of the sword they use, right?"

"No, it's called a saber."

McCree rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples, "Man, the one time I try to lighten the mood and everybody turns against me."

"I thought it was funny!" Mei's voice was just faintly heard across the room as she went to grab the notes on the table Mercy was at.

"Mei, you just walked in here."

Mei blushed, "Yeah, you're right. I was just trying to make you feel better about yourself. Bye!" She shuffled back to her lab.

Pharah brought McCree's attention back to her, "Maybe it's that you think about it too much."

"Whadd'ya mean?"

Mercy jumped in to support Fareeha's statement, "Well, humor is subjective, right? If it's something you had to make up and articulate, people can't process it as well. Try a real-life experience, something ridiculous you've done before."

"I mean, the funniest thing I've seen you do is tattle on that Austrian senator's five-year-old son." Fareeha mentioned humorously.

"He took the gun outta my holster when my back was turned, someone coulda easily gotten hurt!"

"And you handled it like he kicked sand at you on the playground." Fareeha cupped her mouth to suppress her lack of composed laughter, the pleasant memories coming back to her hitting all at once had made her nearly lose the contents of the glass she was holding, "Ahh, but that was…how many years ago?"

McCree looked at Fareeha, smiling pitifully, "You know, that's the first time I've heard you laugh all this week,"

Fareeha's giggles faded abruptly, she paused and began to reminisce the last time she was this amused, "Yeah, you could say that."

"Did you want to say something?"

She looked back at Jesse, "Excuse me?"

"Back at the car, I said that I wanted to talk about what happened back in Egypt more."

"Well, I kind of pretty much said the gist of it." Fareeha looked down at the bottom of her glass and took a confident sip.

Jesse began to look more concerned, "No, you were super vague 'cause you got so emotional and everything,"

Faintly, Fareeha breathed erratically as she broke eye contact with Jesse, "I…"

"Amari, what's going on?" Mercy said, sharing Jesse's concern for the Egyptian.

"…pardon me." Without another word, Fareeha got up from her chair, refusing to make eye contact with anybody before she emptied the contents of her glass into the kitchen sink.

Exiting the room through an automated doorway that happened to be unlocked, she found herself walking into Mei's personal laboratory which she had never thought to actually stumble upon. Expecting to find the scientist with her studies, she was instead welcomed by a small blue Omnic that hovered just at the level of Fareeha's chin. It's pixelated eyes and robotic giggles made itself out to be friendly. The Egyptian gave it an awkward pet, having to stop out of risking her hand getting burnt from its freezing cold metal exoskeleton.

"Oy, Eskimo! Wat's up with the new lady?" Shouted a rigid voice with a strong Australian accent from the back corner of the laboratory.

Fareeha jumped, as the specimen was so loud, she nearly went deaf in one ear, "Don't you know how to use your inside voice?" The image of him didn't sit well with her either. A frail, chiseled man with unwashed hair and wearing what could barely be considered sociably acceptable.

"Don't mind him, he's harmless," Said Mei, just walking in the lab, her eyes fixated on her notes. She took a moment to look up at Fareeha who was still unsettled by the base's new visitor, "Oh, this is Jamison Fawkes, he calls himself Junkrat."

"G'day." Chirped Junkrat as Mei handed him a plate of his late-night snack; an uncooked steak and some oranges.

"Our team caught him looting the barracks for weapons, more precisely explosives. And since we didn't have any cells for this base in particular, I decided to keep him in my lab for research. Turns out, his bloodstream contains heavy amounts of gamma radiation from fallout in the Australian Outback that would be deemed fatal to a normal human being. Which only makes him more interesting for my studies!"

"Maybe so, Mei, but don't you think we could improvise a cell?" Fareeha paused to take an up and down gander at the specimen, "Or at least put him on a leash?"

"Better! I injected him with the nanoprobes that I used to enter cryostasis back in Antarctica." Mei walked over to the computer station and focused Fareeha's attention on the switch next to the keyboard, she flipped open the protective plexiglass cover revealing a neon blue lever, her finger just hovering over it. "It's highly unlikely, but if he ever puts a step out of line, I can hold him in place with cold that contracts the muscles he needs for normal biomechanics,"

"Sounds mighty nasty if ya ask me, but I don't mind." Junkrat shrugged, taking a massive bite into the slab of meat.

Fareeha sighed, "Just make sure he doesn't do anything questionable,"

"You can count on me!"

Fareeha was just about to leave when the realization hit her; she had just remembered why she left Mercy and Jesse in the recreational area, "Hey, Mei, can I ask you a question?"

Mei nodded, "Uh huh!"

"When you used those nanoprobes. You…were rescued from that Ecopoint in Antarctica after all those years in cryostasis. That must have given you some amount of strain, right?"

"Mentally or physically?" Mei asked to clarify.

"I'm thinking more emotionally,"

Mei answered, this time more faint and timid, "Yeah, you could say that."

"How did you handle it?"

Mei's cheery smile dissolved, she knew the subject matter that Fareeha was bringing up was serious, "When they took me out of cryogenic slumber, they told me that out of all my colleagues, I was the only one who came out alive. At first, I felt terrible, but then they started to talk to me about how lucky I was to be alive, as if it was some sort of gift. I thought about my friends at the Ecopoint and how they would feel. When I was working there, there would be times where we didn't have a breakthrough for days, until something drastic happened and the weather changed in our favor, as if it admired our patience, but others just called it luck. Sometimes, when life gives us an extra chance, that's an extra opportunity to keep things in motion." The Omnic hovered over to Mei, giving her a quick nudge on the shoulder, the scientist chuckled, "I guess you can say Snowball here also helped me feel less lonely,"

"But how do you know for sure that those circumstances were luck or fate?" Asked Fareeha.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that. The clock never stops ticking, Pharah. Sometimes, we just have to accept things as they are, even if we never fully understand them."

"What happens when we do fully understand and the realization hurts us? I don't think I can handle it as fact or mystery."

"Well, that's up for you to decide." Mei rubbed her eyes and released a drawn-out yawn, she had put all of her energy into the story, "I bet the answers will be there for you in the morning. Time for some shut-eye, Jamison."

"G'night, Eskimo." Junkrat spit out the bone he was gnawing onto the floor, never bothering to escort it to the trash bin right next to him. He stretched out his lanky skeletal physique and plopped onto the available cot.

Pharah left after Mei, shutting the lights and punching in the keypad to lock the door behind her. Maybe Mei was right, maybe her fear of the unknown was getting the best of her. Maybe she just had to accept that we can't predict the future. But that thought still haunted her, the dark side of things, having to live in constant ignorance wondering why she can never talk to her mother again. The Egyptian stopped for a second, she couldn't let those thoughts get to her, just like Jesse said, it's not worth it. _You left behind Jesse and Ziegler, you coward._ Startled at first by how the subconscious thoughts persisted to give her guilt, she had shrugged it off, she really needed some sleep, it's been a long day.

Fareeha made her way back to her bunk through the recreational area, just noticing the luggage she had left by the table where she and Jesse talked. She had arrived at the door but noticed it was locked, which was strange since she always remembered having it wide open. She punched in the keypad, when the door opened, the blinds were shut as well, making the room completely pitch black-something definitely wasn't right.

Before turning the lights on, Fareeha took the chrome briefcase and tossed it onto her bed, instead of hearing the bed's cushioning soften the case's impact, it hit something rather unnatural. Fareeha noticed the object on her bed underneath the sheets let out a faint grunt from being woken up to something painful. Whatever the case hit had made it tumble off the bed and onto the thin carpet floor. There was definitely somebody else in her bunk, and it definitely was a person. It squirmed, kicked and flailed as it attempted to haphazardly remove the bedsheets.

"Urgh! Emily, what gives?" Murmured a feminine voice in a cockney British accent. Lena's clean-shaven head poked out of the sheets as she rubbed her eyes.

Fareeha was surprised yet relieved, now knowing that the other person in her bunk was a familiar face.

Lena's eyes adjusted to the light, she then recollected that she was at the abandoned Overwatch base. Looking over at who woke her up, she muttered, "Pharah,"

"Oxton," Fareeha retorted.

Lena stood up off the floor, pausing to gather insight on what was going on, "Oh, sorry, luv. Was this your room?"

Fareeha brushed her off, "Forget it, I wasn't going to ask."

"If it is, I mean, no hard feelings. After all, I'm still an accomplice and can't go home until Winston can assure that I'm no longer in danger,"

"I said forget it," Fareeha walked over to the dresser and pulled out an inflatable sleeping mat, the kind that was conventionally given to survivors after a natural disaster. She rolled it out at the very back corner of the room and pulled the tab, allowing it to inflate exponentially quick.

Lena sat on the edge of the bed, "Say, whatcha been up to?"

Fareeha was back at the dresser to find herself a blanket that was a reasonable size. "Well…I just got back from the hospital in Cairo-"

"Ooo, I've been there before. Back when we were hunting down that bomb maker. Yeah, was me, Winston, and a couple of other ones. And didn't y-oh wait, you work for Helix, right? "

" _Worked_ for Helix."

"My bad." Lena murmured under her breath.

Fareeha finally found a good blanket and spread it onto the mattress that was close to fully inflating. She then took off her sweatshirt and hung it up onto the coat rack installed into the wall.

Lena chimed back in, "Oh yeah, you were going to tell me what you were doing back at Egypt."

Fareeha rolled her eyes, "Yes. I was…"

"Just wondering, why were you at a hospital? Was that volunteer work? Or was there an outbreak, 'cause those can be really scary…did you wash your hands?"

"Hey, I think you should come out and talk with us more, socialization is healthy."

Noticing Fareeha's change of the subject, Lena sighed and pouted, plopping her head back onto the mattress, "Been there, done that. I talk, they talk, I end up back here. Nothing changes. Rinse and repeat."

"It's just that I thought you'd want spend more time with the one's you've been friends with for almost a decade."

"Y'know, I had a conversation that was just like this yesterday," Lena changed the subject.

Fareeha smirked, "Déjà vu?"

Lena tilted her head, "… _Right."_

"What was it, then?"

"Huh?"

"What was the conversation you had yesterday?"

Lena recollected her thoughts to before she passed out drunk, "Well, back at my flat-"

Fareeha snickered and shook her head, "No no no, I meant what evaluation number?"

Lena paused and curled her lip to form a slight grimace, "You can't make this easy for me, can you?"

"You choose how difficult you want to make it, Oxton. I'm just sparking up a conversation."

"Actually, I don't think I want to tell you now. Maybe when you've earned it." Lena denied eye contact and folded her arms, her lip remained curled. Fareeha continued to ignore her body language and began to take things out of the chrome briefcase, arranging them around the mat.

Noticing how Fareeha was ignoring her, Lena brought her attention back to her, "Say, does this mean I can be your lodger since it doesn't appear you're going anywhere and you don't mind me taking up space?"

"If that's what you're going to call it, sure."

Lena unfolded her arms and shimmied across the bed towards Fareeha, "Wicked. So, why are you here, exactly?"

The Egyptian looked over her shoulder, her whole body away from the ex-agent, "More to the point, Oxton, why are you here?"

"I already told you that, remember? Bouta minute ago?"

Fareeha turned a heel and now motioned herself towards Lena, she folded her arms and her face became deadpan.

Both knew why they came to the base, but Fareeha decided to hold the silence for a little longer to let her intentions sink in.

Lena, being none the wiser, shot up with wide eyes, "I-I can't drive home! What do you want from me?"

"You haven't changed a bit, haven't you? I mean, everywhere I've seen you, you bring this…this apathy. You make everyone around you feel so jaded and discouraged just so you can feel better about yourself."

Lena's stopped biting her cheek as her mouth turned into a smirk of disbelief and condescension, the kind that showed amusement towards another's delusional self-righteousness.

Fareeha took this as a sign that she was listening, but not in a way that was transparent, "Yeah, you heard me. Because if you can't accept that then we aren't going to get anywhere with you around, you're just…a liability."

Lena now had her hands tucked in her pockets, "…I was right, wasn't I? This really is just like yesterday."

"Why?! Why do you keep going back to that? No wonder you don't want to talk to anybody, it's because the rest of your mind is still back at that run down complex."

"You're talking about my home!"

"So, what? Can this not be your home too?"

"I didn't choose to be here, y'know! It's very hard to imagine rubbish like that after you've basically been kidnapped."

Pharah threw her arms up, "Stop talking like that! All the time you complain about people trying to make you feel guilty and you think it's fine when you do it to them?"

"Of course, I do! It's only because these days it seems as though everyone here thinks about me, they can never shut up about it."

"Because they're scared for you. You have a problem, Oxton. You. Have. A problem. Why won't you accept that?"

"You really believe that you can just waltz in here and think you know me? You don't know my life story, you don't know what I've been through! I'd like to see YOU try a career at Overwatch and see what it's like."

Fareeha's blood boiled and her pupils dilated, both hands shook and clamored before landing a jabbing left hook into Lena's stomach. The impact jolted her upwards with feet an inch off the ground as she plummeted face first. She shot back up on all fours, clenching her abdomen and gasping for breath, her eyes watering and mouth ajar, loosening a stream of saliva onto the carpet.

"You should be grateful you got into the damn force!" Fareeha shouted from above the former agent's head. Within a millisecond, a plasmid blue aura encased Lena and propelled her into the Egyptian, with a trivial amount of effort sweeping her off her feet and into the dresser cabinet, the impact causing it to shutter and rattle. With Lena's right forearm against her larynx, Fareeha had found herself in complete shock; the feeling of going from the middle of the room to the back end bewildered her.

"What? Care for a rematch, luv?! Like to see you flail your way outta this one!" Just under Lena's thorax was a loud beeping noise behind the flickering of her chronal accelerator, the blink had drained the last bit of power from the device. Lena grunted, releasing Fareeha from her clutches as the Egyptian slid to the ground in both relief and pain. The knob from one of the drawers sunk its way into her abdomen and the aches were just settling in.

Lena reached under her arm, she lifted a metal flap and squeezed the lever on the blinking device. In a split-second it sprung out with a loud *sching* as the metal apparatus formed a prism around her upper torso. She loosened the straps on her shoulders and comfortably slipped out of the contraption, pulling it over her head and forcing it against the ground so it could compact into a singular flat triangle. She hastily rushed over to the charging station at the back end of the room and dropped it onto the tray. The gigantic battery below it sputtered and lit up, cueing for the flickers to finally halt.

"Now if you don't mind me, in case you've forgotten, I'm still extremely knackered!" Lena plopped back onto the mattress, this time covering herself with the bedsheets like before.

Pharah clamored herself up off the floor until something shiny caught her eye, it was her mother's Ankh necklace, "When did this get here?"

Lena looked over at what Fareeha was mentioning, "I dunno, it's not mine, I didn't touch it."

Skeptical at first, the Egyptian reached to pick it up and get a closer look. She noticed every detail was legit, it was as if she was a kid again: the gold luster of a deep yellow and white contrast, a righteous and boldly crafted symbol that dangled along the chain.

"Envious git!" Snapped Lena out from under her sheets, something she just needed to get out of her system before going back to sleep. The insult jolted Fareeha out of the chain's hypnotic trance.

After a good stretch and blowing out some hot air of contempt, Pharah decided to finally rest on the mattress along with the rest of her belongings. An ice-cold touch around her neck had suddenly caught her off guard. She reached around and realized that she had put on the necklace without even noticing, as if she was drawn to it somehow, drawn to the good memories with her and…her mother. She looked up at the ceiling, her message popped back into her head again: life has no real ending, the soul lives for eternity. She held on close to the symbol as she drifted off to sleep.


End file.
